How could I be so scared? Feeling like I did.
With my feet touching your feet under your sheets, I was feeling like a prince.
But you live on the mainland and I'm stuck on an island and the distance makes me sick.
That's why I dream of being able to touch you,
baby this relationship is held together by weekends; weeks apart, it's getting really bad.
My teeth smile so seldom that it's tempting to grind them
Long Island makes me mad.
It must be something that you do.
Cause baby I am gripping the telephone
I am holding my plastic you as tight as I can.
I won't let go
I hold this telephone feeling like a kid.
It's like a microphone, try whispering secrets into it,
And I am tied to this phonecard, cause you're on the other end.
This is my millionth phone card so if I kiss you just pretend that you tasted me.
I'm in your mailbox.
I got a little lonely at home
So open your mailbox.
The Stryder - My Plastic You Lyrics
The Stryder - My Plastic You Lyrics
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English
How could I be so scared? Feeling like I did.
With my feet touching your feet under your sheets, I was feeling like a prince.
But you live on the mainland and I'm stuck on an island and the distance makes me sick.
That's why I dream of being able to touch you,
baby this relationship is held together by weekends; weeks apart, it's getting really bad.
My teeth smile so seldom that it's tempting to grind them
Long Island makes me mad.
It must be something that you do.
Cause baby I am gripping the telephone
I am holding my plastic you as tight as I can.
I won't let go
I hold this telephone feeling like a kid.
It's like a microphone, try whispering secrets into it,
And I am tied to this phonecard, cause you're on the other end.
This is my millionth phone card so if I kiss you just pretend that you tasted me.
I'm in your mailbox.
I got a little lonely at home
So open your mailbox.
With my feet touching your feet under your sheets, I was feeling like a prince.
But you live on the mainland and I'm stuck on an island and the distance makes me sick.
That's why I dream of being able to touch you,
baby this relationship is held together by weekends; weeks apart, it's getting really bad.
My teeth smile so seldom that it's tempting to grind them
Long Island makes me mad.
It must be something that you do.
Cause baby I am gripping the telephone
I am holding my plastic you as tight as I can.
I won't let go
I hold this telephone feeling like a kid.
It's like a microphone, try whispering secrets into it,
And I am tied to this phonecard, cause you're on the other end.
This is my millionth phone card so if I kiss you just pretend that you tasted me.
I'm in your mailbox.
I got a little lonely at home
So open your mailbox.
Writer: Stryder Jones
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid