You're crying on my kitchen floor About that man again—what for? Your rent is late, your sink is full You call it love, I call it bullshit You checked his phone, you checked his sign Stalked his mom's page a hundred times And after all that detective work You still believe he isn't a jerk Put down the phone Get off the floor We've done this six times Maybe more Girl. Girl. Girl. Girl. You quit your job to find yourself Found three new problems, nothing else You paid a psychic half your rent To tell you what I already said Your life's on fire, your hair looks great You're forty minutes fucking late You've got excuses by the pound And somehow I'm the one let down I love you, dear I really do But even God Is tired of you Girl. Girl. Girl. Girl. I'll hold your hair I'll hold your hand But I won't help You text that man Go wash your face Get out of bed I love you, babe Now use your head Girl. Girl. Girl. Girl. Girl.
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