Sorry Sorry
Well, I met this girl on a
Saturday night
Saturday night
Saturday night
Saturday night
Saturday night
Saturday night
She sat there all alone
With a Shirley Temple
And a cellular phone
No one to call
No one to ring
'Cause no one's home
The bartender knew her number and name
I grabbed my cell phone
And gave her a ring
Wrong number
I guess I gotta do it the hard way
I walked up to her having seen the future
Sorry, sorry, for making your life a living hell
I'm sorry, sorry for making your life a living hell
But that wasn't me; that was my alter ego
'Cause that wasn't me; that was Johnny Rockets
She was so confused
From a point of view I would be confused too
I'm so rude; what was I thinking?
But, but she dug my hair and my new suede shoes so much
She drug me straight, drug me straight to her room
And I was forgetting what I was doing
Two hours later we lay on the bed
And I said, sorry, sorry for making your life a living hell
Sorry, sorry for making your life a living hell
That wasn't me; that was alter ego
That wasn't me; that was Johnny Rockets
I'm sorry, sorry for making your life a living hell
(I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry)
I'm sorry, sorry for making your life a living hell
(I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry)
I'm sorry sorry for making your life
I'm sorry sorry for making your life
I'm sorry sorry for making your life a living hell
Writer/s: Robert Carmine
