Boys

My eyes fell through the glass, can't make it up this time
My hands are young and fast, color outside the lines
You'll tear your mother's seam if you don't cradle me
They'll show no sympathy for boys who cry in C

O

My eyes fell through the glass, can't make it up this time
My hands are young and fast, color outside the lines
You'll tear your mother's seam if you don't cradle me
They'll show no sympathy for boys who cry in C

Ah-ooh



Credits
Writer(s): Huerta Lorenzo
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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