I wish I knew what was going through your head
When you color code your make-up
And you sugar-coat your lies
You can compromise your morals
But don't you waste my fucking time
I hope you feel sick
When you think of coming clean
Cause your hands are so cold
But only when they're touching me
I'm sure he flatters you with flowers
I know he tries to treat you well
I know he fills you up with expensive foods and liquors
And tells you that your family
Is not as important as himself
I hope you feel sick
When you think of coming clean
Cause your hands are so cold
But only when they're touching me
I got a right hook with his name on it
You wrote the handbook on how to be dishonest
I don't know you anymore
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
That's just the risk of coming home
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