Ты знаешь, что во мне нет ничего хорошего Meet you downstairs in the bar and hurt, Your rolled up sleeves in your skull t-shirt, You say “what did you do with him today?”, And sniffed me out like I was Tanqueray, ’Cause you're my fella, my guy, Hand me your stella and fly, By the time I'm out the door, You tear men down like Roger Moore, I cheated myself, Like I knew I would, I told you I was trouble, You know that I'm no good Upstairs in bed, with my ex boy, He's in a place, but I can't get joy, Thinkin
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