Sand beneath your tongue
Hold your body warm.
Grip your pillow tight,
Keeps you warm at night.
Papa don't say my woes,
Now I'm a whore
Papa don't sell my soul
Now I'm a whore
Grass between your toes,
Gusty winds that blow
Jellyfish in the sea,
Papa don't say my woes,
Now I'm a whore.
Papa don't sell my soul,
Now I'm a whore.
Papa don't say my woes,
Now I'm a whore.
Papa don't sell my soul,
Writer(s): Andrew Naeve, Andrew Robert Naeve, Martin Folb, Michael Dylan Schiff
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