She Said Your Mom Wears Combat Boots Songtext

She talks fast and smart. Like a bullet. With a tongue nine millimeters long (okay, maybe a little bit longer). She's got nails longer than her attention span, and she's digging into your head as you listen to her.

She grabs her coat and heads for the door, but she never quite leaves. She just stands at the exit, and hovers there like a smart bomb. Every word you say is made out of plastic. It almost smells like it should be lining homemade napalm.

You're just looking for an excuse to pick me apart piece by piece, so pick your weapon of choice, baby. You're just looking for an excuse to pick me apart piece by piece, so choose your weapon of choice now.

Lick your lips. Cross your legs. Bat your eyes. I won't be a slave to your --
Lick your lips. Cross your legs. Bat your eyes. I won't be a slave to your hidden agenda now.

Your words are like swords, but I've got sabers of my own. Next time we cross paths or cross lips, let's see who has the sharper tongue.