La Letra del Desamor: «Messy»

You know I'm impatient

So why would you leave me waiting outside the station

When it was like minus four degrees?

And I, I get what you're sayin'

I just really don't wanna hear it right now

Can you shut up for like once in your life?

Listen to me, I took your nice words of advice

About how you think I'm gonna die lucky if I turn 33

Okay, so yeah, I smoke like a chimney

I'm not skinny, and I pull a Britney every other week

But cut me some slack, who do you want me to be?

Because I'm too messy, and then I'm too fucking clean

You told me, "Get a job", then you ask where the hell I've been

And I'm too perfect 'til I open my big mouth

I want to be me, is that not allowed?

And I'm too clever, and then I'm too fucking dumb

You hate it when I cry unless it's that time of the month

And I'm too perfect 'til I show you that I'm not

A thousand people I could be for you, and you hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot

You hate, you hate

It's taking you ages

You still don't get the hint, I'm not asking for pages

But one text or two would be nice

And please, don't pull those faces

When I've been out working my ass off all day

It's just one bottle of wine or two, but hey

You can't even talk, you smoke weed just to help you sleep

Then why you out getting stoned at four o'clock

And then you come home to me?

And don't say hello 'cause I got high again and forgot to fold my clothes

'Cause I'm too messy, and then I'm too fucking clean

You told me, "Get a job", then you ask where the hell I've been

And I'm too perfect 'til I open my big mouth

I want to be me, is that not allowed?

And I'm too clever, and then I'm too fucking dumb

You hate it when I cry unless it's that time of the month

And I'm too perfect 'til I show you that I'm not

A thousand people I could be for you, and you hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot

Oh, and I'm too messy, and then I'm too fucking clean

You told me, "Get a job", then you ask where the hell I've been

And I'm too perfect 'til I open my big mouth

I want to be me, is that not allowed?

And I'm too clever, and then I'm too fucking dumb

You hate it when I cry unless it's that time of the month

And I'm too perfect 'til I show you that I'm not

A thousand people I could be for you, and you hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot

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