punkqb
07/11/03, 05:23 PM
The One
She’s the one you could never ever have
She’s the one who made those stupid fads
And yet she’s the only one you ever wanted
Prom queen…
Parents dream…
You always talk to her dumb friends
They say that she’s never heard of you
But that’s only half true
Because she just doesn’t know you quite yet
And now its three a.m. and I say
Cant stand her, cant land her
Don’t want her, but need her
Eternal obsession, undying hate
If dreams could come true
She would be with you
She said she wants to be friends
But that isn’t the truth
The truth is… she doesn’t want you
But now your better off wasted, a drunken mess
You rip on her, until there’s nothing left
And as she talks to her friends
She tells them that you’re just a joke
The clothes that you wear, the style of your hair
She’ll never understand, and she’ll never like your band
Because your just a little punk rock wannabe,
And she’s the fucking queen of everything
Better off with out her
Who needs her unbearable teenage poetry
She wouldn’t know pain, if an anvil graced her face
She thinks she’s so smart, she thinks she knows everything
But popularity doesn’t last a lifetime, only four measly years
And as you sit stoned, writing your very next song
You ask that never ending question, what if?
She’s the one you could never ever have
She’s the one who made those stupid fads
And yet she’s the only one you ever wanted
Prom queen…
Parents dream…
You always talk to her dumb friends
They say that she’s never heard of you
But that’s only half true
Because she just doesn’t know you quite yet
And now its three a.m. and I say
Cant stand her, cant land her
Don’t want her, but need her
Eternal obsession, undying hate
If dreams could come true
She would be with you
She said she wants to be friends
But that isn’t the truth
The truth is… she doesn’t want you
But now your better off wasted, a drunken mess
You rip on her, until there’s nothing left
And as she talks to her friends
She tells them that you’re just a joke
The clothes that you wear, the style of your hair
She’ll never understand, and she’ll never like your band
Because your just a little punk rock wannabe,
And she’s the fucking queen of everything
Better off with out her
Who needs her unbearable teenage poetry
She wouldn’t know pain, if an anvil graced her face
She thinks she’s so smart, she thinks she knows everything
But popularity doesn’t last a lifetime, only four measly years
And as you sit stoned, writing your very next song
You ask that never ending question, what if?