I wrote a song about a guy whose love had been untrue
The record's out, my story's told, my friends all know it's true
I hear my song now all day long as tears run down my cheeks
They tell me it's the DJ's choice for Picket of the Week
But if my song should sell a million copies
The disc of gold
The disc of gold
The disc of gold
It won't mean a thing
Nobody knows how much I hurt
No one was there to see
The tears I cried the night I wrote
The Picket of the Week
But if my song should sell a million copies
The disc of gold
I get won't mean a thing
Nobody knows how much I hurt
No one was there to see
The tears I cried the night I wrote
The Picket of the Week
The Picket of the Week
The Picket of the Week
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