, I am paid to spill my guts I won't see home till spring Oh, I would kill for the Atlantic but I am paid to make girls panic while I sing As we won'
waiting to get home. Another week away, my greatest fear. I need the smell of summer, I need its noises in my ears. If looks could really kill, then my
I am paid to spill my guts. I won't see home till spring. Oh, I would kill for the Atlantic, but I am paid to make girls panic while I sing. And we won