1-2-3-4, count 96 more
|
and then come and find me
|
cause im hiding, baby
|
not in the closet or the door
|
or down in the playroom where we used to
|
play soccer and i'd grease the floor
|
with lysol and love
|
|
(chorus)
|
right now gotta get something straight
|
i can count backwards and make the grades
|
i will let you carry my books
|
thru those pre-school days
|
|
try to tag me in the laundry chute
|
where i'd grab your arm and come crashing down
|
like bmx racers over double jumps
|
those sentimental days plotting all the ways
|
throwing snowballs at innocent passing cars
|
the last laugh was never ours
|
|
(chorus & repeat)
|
|
and i remember playing games
|
walking on bar stools with alias names
|
and holding our breath, the floor a fiery
|
toxic death, baby
|
and i would always get my sister straight
|
trash the dollhouse with ig-88
|
and my han solo, in his hoth battle
|
gear clothes
|
|
(chorus)
|
|
-----------------
|
Preschool Days
|
Self |