Mademoiselle

Miss, I have secrets
Things that I know, that I keep silent
An old bubble-gum
That sticks to shoes like a man

Miss, I have regrets
Not very classy stuff that I've done
A smell of rum
That sticks to the skin like a man

[Chorus]:
I fear knowing a little too much
Love will be the death of me
I fear knowing a little too much
Love will be the death of me

Miss, I have shivers
I tremble for a yes, for a no
A Smith and Wesson
That sticks to the head like a man

Miss, I have my reasons
A crowd of questions, a name
The filter of Winstons
That sticks to the lips like a man