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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
LOLO
LOLO
Vocals
Jake Sinclair
Jake Sinclair
Background Vocals
Patrick Stump
Patrick Stump
Background Vocals
Mark Stepro
Mark Stepro
Drums
Christopher Wray
Christopher Wray
Guitar
Philip Krohnengold
Philip Krohnengold
Keyboards
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
LOLO
LOLO
Songwriter
Jake Sinclair
Jake Sinclair
Songwriter
Patrick Stump
Patrick Stump
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Jake Sinclair
Jake Sinclair
Producer
Celso Estrada
Celso Estrada
Engineer
Suzy Shinn
Suzy Shinn
Engineer
Pete Lyman
Pete Lyman
Mastering Engineer
Elisa Pangsaeng
Elisa Pangsaeng
Engineer

Lyrics

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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