The Buck Stops Here, Mr. Rogers

This is the latest craze, broken hearts on dirty sleeves in open caskets, so let's hold Hands and slow dance, if romance is such a dirty word, such a dirty word in this town
Take our bodies at the door, you're often inclined to sell yourself for one more
The buck stops here, so fuck you, dear, here's a reminder of what has become of us
Until the disco ball exposes every curve you stole
They take our, our bodies at the door and seal the exits
We're coiled by the rapture, the throes of canned laughter



Credits
Writer(s): Ben Woosnam
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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