Tekster:
Joan Jett And The Blackhearts Pure And Simple

and you it's getting outta hand Somethin's on your mind, you don't have to shout Why can't we just talk and figure this thing out I used to think that you and

: Words, letters and numbered grooves Caught in a photograph and I can't move Is that your camera or is that your gun Stuck in a funhouse that ain't

I'm wonderin' - does anyone see what I see? Or is it just me? Is it just me? An' now I pray for you America Don't let the dream go and slip away I'm

gotta problem I gotta problem And it's name is you You gotta problem You gotta problem You gotta problem Whatcha gonna do You gotta problem You gotta problem I gotta problem And

: I sense a bad vibe It's comin' from all sides Hard to keep my head clear This trip's a sad ride Too much distraction A negative reaction Ain't gonna

within her space And takes hurting people real serious you can see it on her face She can't accept that life is unfair She wants to think the others care And

so consumed Thinking that you can do no wrong, I'm so consumed, so consumed These tears are tears of happiness I just need a little control To hold it inside and

day, hey hey I watch the old folks sit alone They talk to ghosts they used to know Where are the wise men of the tribe Where are the midwives and the

me and you it's getting outta hand Somethin's on your mind, you don't have to shout Why can't we just talk and figure this thing out I used to think that you and