Из The Mechanic со Стэтхэмом, такая-то лампота

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Never treat me very good,
Nice and friendly like you could,
Why don't you tell me why I should hang around with you

I'm so lonesome in my bed,
Gloom & sadness fill my head,
Thinking I'd be better dead than hang around with you

I don't want a man to tease me,
Then leave me all alone,
Or have those other girls call you baby, on the telephone

Why don'y you love me any more,
Or send me roses to my door,
Instead I'm crying on the floor just thinking about you