You're not the last to hurt her, man,
She wishes she could say you were,
She's glad to say you won't be. Shan,
Is't not? But you'll deny as per, as per.
She was a thorn within your side,
A feather to get off your chest,
You let it go, you let it bide,
You cursed her, wished her all the best.
You're not the last to hurt her, man -
Her husband has that honour -
Hug her best verse as best you can,
And never say you won her.
May 8, 2024
May 8, 2024 at 5:28 PM UTC
You're not the last to hurt her, man,
She wishes she could say you were,
She's glad to say you won't be. Shan,
Is't not? But you'll deny as per, as per.
She was a thorn within your side,
A feather to get off your chest,
You let it go, you let it bide,
You cursed her, wished her all the best.
You're not the last to hurt her, man -
Her husband has that honour -
Hug her best verse as best you can,
And never say you won her.
They who fight and get away,
Live to fight another day;
Faint heart ne'er gained a battlefield,
Strong heart knows when, and how, to yield.
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