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 thirty-three
Ok, 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
‘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 till 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 till I show you that I’m not
A thousand people I could be for you, and you hate the fucking lot
And you hate the fucking lot
And you hate the fucking lot
You hate, hate
It’s taking you ages
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 till 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 till 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
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 till 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 till 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
Lola Young Sheet Music
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