Nanette Workman - P.S. Get Lost

I'm leanin' on my elbow

Got a backbone full of hate

Been spyin' through your diary

Arrived at June eighth

I'm workin' out your scribble

I don't like what I read

It says here "Amy Jackson,

This girl sells what I need"

The first of March was D-day

In the battle of your bed

It's all down here in black and white

The queen of hearts is red

So I'm tearin' out the pages

Days and weeks and months and years

Gonna fry them for your supper

Served up with salad tears

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

The picture's slowly buildin'

The king bee in his hive

You're gonna feel my sting, boy

My hands become ten knives

I've been snoopin' round your palace

Found a mojo in a drawer

Two jade monkeys on a chain

And a black cat's frozen paw

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

Your bed's still warm from lovin'

The sheets, they don't tell lies

The shirt that's drying by the fire

It's silk and it's not my size

Found a note pinned to the pillow

Your words bite cold as frost

"Amy Jackson's movin' in"

And ends: P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost

(P.S. Get lost)

(P.S. Get...)

(P.S. Get lost)

(P.S. Get...)

P.S. Get lost