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US cool costs too much money And takes up all my time British humour isn't funny I'm just trying to catch your eye You've no idea what your looks do to me It doesn't even cross your mind You don't look like the kind to say much But then I'm the quiet type When you rise up from the gutter You can play your hand It's not enough until you've suffered Nobody gives a damn When where you're at is all that matters It's all a question of your style A catwalk stalk that cures your stutter You're not the shy type Not much I wouldn't do for money Can't seem to draw the line But this much lust tastes sweet as honey And floors me every time You've no idea what your looks do to me It doesn't even cross your mind Then again I think it's funny You might be my type Aus Songtexte Mania