Copyright © Eric L. Jackson 2010

I woke up to droolin’ and some writing on my head
They said that you’re the one who wrote it
They wouldn’t tell me what it said

And I saw you dancing with those guys behind the bar
Before escaping to the men’s room
And then leaving with my car, you’re thinkin’

I’m on my way, oh ya
I hope the bouncer makes your world a better place

You’re so cliché
You’re so cliché
You’re so cliché, I think I’ll turn the other way
You’re so cliché

I used to love those low cut jeans that rode below your thong
But now your belly ring and half-shirt
Are just tools for writing songs

And I finally understand why all your friends are guys
You only smoke when you’ve been drinkin’
And they love your bloodshot eyes, you’re thinkin’

I’m on my way, oh ya
Perhaps the nicotine will clear your cloudy brain

You’re so cliché
You’re so cliché
You’re so cliché, I think I’ll turn the other way
You’re so cliché

You’re thinkin’, I’m on my way, oh ya
I’ve just removed myself from your psycho manic fray

You’re so cliché
You’re so cliché
You’re so cliché, I think I’ll turn the other way
You’re so cliché