Now I hate “Eight Days a Week”
Honestly, it makes me sick
To think of you and her asleep
My childhood song playing on repeat
And they would say your bird can sing
Go ahead and cut the wings
And from a cage, you’re listening
My father’s name is a buried memory
So don’t mind me
If I’m throwing stones at your door
Don’t blame me
For getting so hurt with something so small
No, don’t take it personal
‘Cause it’s personal
You stole Lucy’s diamond rings
Thought you said that you played clean
And honestly, I’ve heard some things
That make me doubt all your reasoning
So don’t mind me
If I’m throwing stones at your door
Don’t blame me
For getting so hurt with something so small
No, don’t take it personal
‘Cause it’s personal
No, don’t take it personal
‘Cause it’s personal
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