| I’ve got a fantasy where I never have to see |
| Your face, your car, your Nikes |
| Took me a couple days, scrubbing out all the stains |
| Deleted every memory |
| I’m skipping through the cemetery where you dug your own grave |
| Ending you is necessary 'cause you can’t behave |
| Boo-hoo, baby, it’s your funeral |
| Yeah, you’re through making me so miserable |
| So I’ll raise a glass to your last moments |
| There’s no second chance 'cause you’re literally dead to me |
| You’re literally dead to me |
| People keep askin' 'bout where you’ve been hidin' out |
| I sigh, «Oh, why should I know?» |
| I spin up a couple lies, try on some alibis |
| But we both know you’re the psycho |
| I picnic in the cemetery where you dug your own grave |
| Champagne bubbles, a Hail Mary, you just couldn’t behave |
| Boo-hoo, baby, it’s your funeral |
| Yeah, you’re through making me so miserable |
| So I’ll raise a glass to your last moments |
| There’s no second chance 'cause you’re literally dead to me |
| Boo-hoo, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh |
| You’re through, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh (Boo-hoo, baby) |
| Boo-hoo, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh (No, no, no, baby) |
| You’re through, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh |
| Rest in peace, it’s your funeral |
| You’re through making me so miserable |
| So I’ll raise a glass to your last moments |
| There’s no second chance 'cause you’re literally dead to me |
| You’re literally dead to me |