icke

I hate the way you talk to me
And the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car.
I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big dumb combat boots
And the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick --
It even makes me rhyme.

I hate the way you're always right.
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh --
Even worse when you make me cry.

I hate it when you're not around
And the fact that you didn't call.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you --
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all


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