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She flies to Paris, France, I come down in her childhood bed She tries to fuck me, I pretend that I’m asleep instead She loves pop culture, she has ‘thank u, next’ stuck in her head The cursed vultures give me sourdough, my daily bread And I wanna find out What it’s like She is very young And well-versed And demanding She knows this dance Yeah, she knows this dance The richest girl in every room Mainline to the UE BOOM She asks me Why don’t you sing with an English accent? Well, I guess it’s too late to change it now In the rural American town fairground, I go round and I go round Gross misunderstanding of my influences I check my phone, and make the sound SongtexteLike theme from failure, performed for just you Like my bare proportions un-tensed, and un-toweled She hates every playlist she swears she made when she was fifteen She can’t believe I’m so afraid of sheets and what’s in-between It’s a one-size-fits-all hardcore cyber-fetish early noughties 'zine She sells matcha shots to pay for printing costs and a PR team She’s sexually enlightened, and she’s forward, and that fazes me She won’t give up– too soft to fuck– but how hard could it really be? And she knows this dance She knows this dance Aus Songtexte Mania