Blue jeans, White shirt
Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn
It was like James Dean, for sure
You so fresh to death & sick as ca-cancer
You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop
But 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!
lana del rey