Blue jeans, white shirt
Walked into the room
You know you make my eyes burn
It was like James Dean for sure
You’re so fresh to death and sick as cancer
You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop
You fit me better than my favourite sweater
And I know that love is mean, and love hurts
But I still remember that day we met in December, oh baby

Blue jeans, white shirt
Walked into the room
You know you make my eyes burn
It was like James Dean for sure
You’re so fresh to death and sick as cancer
You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop
You fit me better than my favourite sweater
And I know that love is mean, and love hurts
But I still remember that day we met in December, oh baby