You’ve given no reason
For me to feel this way
But all reasons aside
You’re such a cliché
The cheerleader type
You run and you play
But I remember a time
Your type would betray
Your voice pitch is high
Your IQ count can’t match
I really can’t see why
You’re considered a catch
But maybe I’m petty
Or jealous, or insecure
I think I’m just ready
To be called particular
I don’t like your type
I don’t fancy to be friends
I don’t follow the hype
You give me the bends