Your smile tells more tales than a 10-dollar psychic   And I know that love is your target   But the dart you grasp is shy of sharp   And a little limp for my liking   There's still not a problem   Your camera shy but still the star   But I hope you know that fame fades and wears in time   Kind of like that one pair of jeans that you sport so much   You know, the ones that visit every boys apartment floor when its 15 after four      Your axels nothing scant of dazzling   But this judge's vote is partial   Inclined because the gaze in your eyes plays soiled tricks on his      I wish I could plant a bomb under the backseat of your car   I'd set the time with such precision   It'd explode before the next boy does inside of you   Because being filled with joy just ain't your passion love   It's not your passion love, its not      If I knew you were listening, I'd pitch out one last verse in respect to you   But I'm not one that charts the good luck trophies on the shelf   And neither is the player that spins this record