You and your museum of lovers. The precious collection you've housed in your covers. My simpleness threatened by my own admission. And the bags are much too heavy. In my insecure condition. My pregnant mind is fat full with envy again. But I still love to wash in your old bathwater. Love to think that you couldn't love another. I can't help it... you're my kind of man. Wanted and adored by attractive women. Bountiful selection at your discretion. I know I'm diving into my own destruction. So why do we choose the boys that are naughty?. I don't fit in so why do you want me?. And I know I can't tame you... but I just keep trying. 'Cause I love to wash in your old bathwater. Love to think that you couldn't love another. I'm on you list with all your other women. But I still love to wash in your old bathwater. You make me feel like I couldn't love another. I can't help it... you're my kind of man. Why do the good girls always want the bad boys?. So I pacify problems with kisses and cuddles. Diligently doubtful through all kinds of trouble. Then I find myself choking on all my contradictions. 'Cause I still love to wash in your old bathwater. Love to think that you couldn't love another. Share a toothbrush... you're my kind of man. I still love to wash in your old bathwater. Make me feel like I couldn't love another. I can't help it... you're my kind of man. No I can't help myself. I can't help myself. I still love to wash in your old bathwater