Meme Hard Die Ironically

Well we’re here, we’re at the common again, smoked six of the ten fags that I only bought an hour ago Said well I, I like the look of your shoes I like the way that your face looks when I’m arguing with you And so when, when we all grow old, I hope this song will remind you that I’m not half as bad as what you’ve been told When I knock at one hundred and two, and I see your pyjamas I can’t stop smiling at you That’s why we’re here We’re at the common again, I’ve been pouring my heart out towards your optimistic grin Said well I, I, I like the cut of your jib, I like the way that your face looks when you’re yapping on about him But on this shirt I found your smell, and I just sat there for ages, contemplating what to do with myself I called you up at one hundred and two, we just sat there for ages talking about that boy what was getting onto you You