Видео

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ИСПОЛНИТЕЛИ
LOLO
LOLO
Вокал
Jake Sinclair
Jake Sinclair
Бэк-вокал
Patrick Stump
Patrick Stump
Бэк-вокал
Mark Stepro
Mark Stepro
Барабаны
Christopher Wray
Christopher Wray
Гитара
Philip Krohnengold
Philip Krohnengold
Клавишные инструменты
МУЗЫКА И СЛОВА
LOLO
LOLO
Автор песен
Jake Sinclair
Jake Sinclair
Автор песен
Patrick Stump
Patrick Stump
Автор песен
ПРОДЮСЕРЫ И ЗВУКОРЕЖИССЕРЫ
Jake Sinclair
Jake Sinclair
Продюсер
Celso Estrada
Celso Estrada
Инженер
Suzy Shinn
Suzy Shinn
Инженер
Pete Lyman
Pete Lyman
Мастеринг-инженер
Elisa Pangsaeng
Elisa Pangsaeng
Инженер

Слова

Sitting in the corner of the bar And the neon beer sign up above your head flickers on Like a bright idea just popped into your dirty, dirty mind Small talk- can't call me like a dog Hey, Mr. Rolex-And-Casmere-Sweater, I hope you got dressed for the cold, cold weather Oh you're rich, but your talk is cheap And it's not gonna work, gonna work on me You might be relatively well dressed You got your pants pressed It doesn't mean you're ever getting into mine You might be relatively well dressed You got your pants pressed It doesn't mean you're ever getting into mine Keep those bloodshot baby blues to yourself now Keep those bloodshot baby blues to yourself now Here comes Brandon, Bartender to ask me if there's anything I want And I just want this man to leave me alone The more uncomfortable he gets, the more he checks his watch I'm hoping that it's time he goes home I'd say I like the color of your Oxford suit But I hate to say I like a single thing about you And oh you're rich, but your talk is cheap And it's not gonna work, gonna work on me You might be relatively well dressed You got your pants pressed It doesn't mean you're ever getting into mine You might be relatively well dressed You got your pants pressed It doesn't mean you're ever getting into mine Keep those bloodshot baby blues to yourself now Keep those bloodshot baby blues to yourself now Hey, Mr. Rolex-And-Casmere-Sweater, I hope you got dressed for the cold, cold weather I'd say I like the color of your Oxford suit But I hate to say I like a single thing about you And oh you're rich, but your talk is cheap And it's not gonna work, gonna work on me You might be relatively well dressed You got your pants pressed It doesn't mean you're ever getting into mine You might be relatively well dressed You got your pants pressed It doesn't mean you're ever getting into mine Keep those bloodshot baby blues to yourself now Keep those bloodshot baby blues to yourself now Keep those bloodshot baby blues to yourself now Keep those bloodshot baby blues to yourself now
Writer(s): Patrick Stump, Lauren Pritchard, Jacob Scott Sinclair Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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