Print

One, two, three One, two, three This is me and my big scene I'm happily bruised from a weekend spent with you On your back on the bed You put your legs up straight and said that I'm meant To have your feet pushed firm to my stomach With our fingers locked and my palms on yours My toes parted way with the floor I leant in and you helped me to soar I lifted my arms skyward This time next week I will be Your very own flying machine Your very own flying machine There's nothing worth singing but babadadada 'Cause these words will run right out Nothing's fun anymore Let's count to four in 3/4 time And stop when we get tongue tied One, two, three, four One, two, three, four One, two, three, four One, two, three "Did you say fuck?" From Letras Mania