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I'm gonna smoke one for all of my brothers,

place the roach in the ash tray for all of the mothers,

who cared for another, then left him quickly,

pretending to be Taylor made, leaving him Swift-ly,

girls are too shifty, grow up to regret,

boys are always fifty, with time they forget,

like stepping on insects it's hard to notice,

but with a broken heart i already know this,

many times i've blown this part that makes me happy,

or sometimes vacations can come back to slap me,

not quite trashy, and that still hurts the same,

maybe in someone else, maybe in another dame,

i can stop complaining and calling her different names,

life is just Mouse Trap, you get trapped and play again,

always the same end, but this one seems more,

the closest break always hurts more then the break before.