There's a criminal hot on your tail,
Haunting your tricks you put in the mail,
Honey, you're too young to die,
And I ain't ready to mutter my goodbye.

Fistfights cannot brake your soul,
Even under our noses a slimy mole, 
Could be me or maybe that pretty girly,
Trust isn't free but you know that, surly?

Despite our heated conversations,
He's still chasing after the new creation,
Which clearly you possess in such might,
Just promise you won't leave out of sight,

Wish upon a star, pick a lucky clover,
I sense the run shall soon be over...