Tell her this: I don’t like to kiss

I know that it’s something I’ll miss

Tell her that I’ll never be late

As long as she’ll be there to wait for me

Tell her this: my tongue’s in a twist

I ran through a confident fist

Tell her that the Gypsy was real

December is what makes the toe cramps and stomachaches hard to heal



And it don’t mean a thing

If you can’t try to be

What you’re always expecting from me



Tell her this: I’ll never be rich

And Christmas was always a bitch

Tell her that I still feel the same

But in between me and you, we see things better



And it don’t mean a thing

If you can’t try to be

What you’re always expecting from me



Still in my underwear watching some reruns of anything

I can’t forget

New York is still on my mind but I’m trapped here in Tennessee

Still with regrets



Tell her this: I don’t like to kiss

I know that it’s something I’ll miss



And it don’t mean a thing

If you can’t try to be

What you’re always expecting from me

No it don’t mean a thing

If you can’t try to be

What you’re always expecting from me