Attention and flirting don't satisfy.
Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.
Last week Justin pulled his hands through my hair.
He asked, if I'm free that night, to stop by.
To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.
Tod's smart; classics he hasn't read are rare.
He writes me sonnets that publishers buy.
Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.
My ex bought me tops he thought I should wear.
In Juicy Couture, his trophy was I.
To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.
But He saw my heart, died to make life fair.
Betrayed with a kiss to suffer and die.
Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.
Profess your love; pursue me, if you dare.
Death, not words nor touch, no one can deny.
To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.
Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.
