House Show

Babe, I'm not like your friends
Sobbing in your closet
With your clothes on again
The heaviness of higher order
You kept collapsing across the border

He's the kind of high
Where he's not talking a lot
Underneath the lowlights
In the freezing cold garage
I thought you talked to the reporter
She had a polka dot recorder



Credits
Writer(s): Fred Nixon, Nathan Tucker, Isaac Eiger
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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