Your smile tells more tales than a 10-dollar psychic
And I know that love is your target
But the dart you grasp is shy of sharp
And a little limp for my liking
There's still not a problem
Your camera shy but still the star
But I hope you know that fame fades and wears in time
Kind of like that one pair of jeans that you sport so much
You know, the ones that visit every boys apartment floor when its 15 after four
Your axels nothing scant of dazzling
But this judge's vote is partial
Inclined because the gaze in your eyes plays soiled tricks on his
I wish I could plant a bomb under the backseat of your car
I'd set the time with such precision
It'd explode before the next boy does inside of you
Because being filled with joy just ain't your passion love
It's not your passion love, its not
If I knew you were listening, I'd pitch out one last verse in respect to you
But I'm not one that charts the good luck trophies on the shelf
And neither is the player that spins this record
