Stalker's my whole style, And if I get caught, I'll Deny, deny, deny. ♪ Today you're twenty-five I made you something fine, It's in the palm of my new hand. It's out: you're mostly What I think about, and I'm proud, I've been coasting On this single's route. But I still hear your name In wedding bells. Will I look better or Will I look the same Rotting in hell? You're the only Proper noun I need. Hurry, My copper crown's gone green. Pull me out of this tree; I'm stuck up a branch waiting, Clearly caught between Two things unclear to me: ♪ Are you a female young messiah For a stowaways in dugouts? And Are you what church-folk Mean by 'The Good News', Pulling plastic bags off heads? Or are you giving me a Dirty look in the rear view, Clicking the button On your U'Haul pen? Don't pretend you didn't See me coming 'round the bend, On my fixie with the chopped Horns turned in, trailing Behind your biodiesel Benz. ♪ Stalker's my whole style, And if I get caught, I'll Deny, deny, deny. ♪ '25' Carved with a butter knife On the palm of my new hand. It's out: you're mostly What I think about.