Moёt /blues song/

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Please girl, stop this game to me,

because i'm pouring salty tears

everytime you walking next to me

you lips whisper, how lonely man could be,

 

*

 

Moёt, take me to your place,

my parfume smells of whiskey and lime,

we'll dance in dark room

and make all your Christmas wishes ~ true

 

*

 

When you see this woman, mind, that she's mine,

you know, i sing this blues for her,

till she's fine

she deserve this dimond ring and french kiss.

 

*

Moёt, take me to your place,

my parfume smells of whiskey and lime,

we'll dance in dark room

and make all your Christmas wishes ~ t*