I'm leanin' on my elbow
Got a backbone full of hate
Been spyin' through your diary
Arrived at June eighth
I'm workin' out your scribble
I don't like what I read
It says here "Amy Jackson
This girl sells what I need"

The first of March was D-day
In the battle of your bed
It's all down here in black and white
The queen of hearts is red
So I'm tearin' out the pages
Days and weeks and months and years
Gonna fry them for your supper
Served up with salad tears

P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost

The picture's slowly buildin'
The king bee in his hive
You're gonna feel my sting, boy
My hands becomе ten knives
I've been snoopin' round your palacе
Found a mojo in a drawer
Two jade monkeys on a chain
And a black cat's frozen paw
P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost

Your bed's still warm from lovin'
The sheets, they don't tell lies
The shirt that's drying by the fire
It's silk and it's not my size
Found a note pinned to the pillow
Your words bite cold as frost
"Amy Jackson's movin' in"
And ends: P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost

P.S. Get lost
P.S. Get lost
(P.S. Get lost)
(P.S. Get...)

(P.S. Get lost)
(P.S. Get...)
P.S. Get lost