She's the kind could clean you out

And strip your cloths, blow-up your house

Stand you naked in the rubble

Blonde trouble

Making promises with your fingers crossed

Counting the cost of the things you've lost

Count the cost of the things unfound

Blonde trouble

She's like the driving force of fate

A mirror thrown from a speeding train

An elastic rope that's drawn between two points

Her voices would have lied to you

But the eyes say something different

She says I think I love you

But it's not the thought that counts

Roll a six cause you know you can

Stare down the barrel of a loaded gun

Move to a place that seems remote

She's the kind could clean you out

And strip your cloths, blow-up your house

Stand you naked in the rubble

Blonde trouble