You call me every night and tell me that you feel like shit
I say, "I´m sorry, is there any way I can help with it?"
I listen to you scream, "The world is simply your enemy

With death and taxes, what´s the point of tryna be happy?"

And I´ve had bad days, bad years
Bad boys and bad careers
But I´m still standin´ here
I understand you, darlin´, but at the end of the day
You just won´t help yourself
Rather give someone else
A glimpse into your hell
Pour all your problems on ´em just so you can walk away

Boy, I´m too young
To be your mother
Not smart enough
To be your therapist either

And I´m always here if you needa talk
But maybe first, you should take a walk

´Cause I´m not gonna make you change
That´s above my pay grade, babe