got me in a zone Who do I gotta be To make cutie wanna be wit me [Verse 1:] She's the type of girl in the magazine front cover of the Seventeen 5 foot
Malice murderers of many men Multiply incisions They certain their vision Get them percision and death permission Best believe I keep them over seventeen Up in any magazine
is brutally honest At my calmest I'm tired of explaining how it feels To be exploited and rated number one, two or seventeen Fuck what they print in those damn magazines
in a small town Well, baby who needs their faces in a magazine? Me and you, we've been stars in this town since we were seventeen Let's go on down
sleeping in my back seat Understand the spirit's willing but my flesh is weak Let me speak, I never had a chance to dream Ten years old and finding love in dirty magazines
used to grind all night With that residue that was iPod white I'm a boss, I got Juice like the magazine An' everyday I see Feds like a magazine Psychopathic
in the scene And it feels like I'm seventeen again Yeah, it feels like I'm seventeen again Yes, it feels like I'm seventeen again Seventeen, seventeen
Ed They say the odds are again' me But I got my own little scheme Instead of just one or two, I order All the magazines! I get Glamour, Cosmo, Redbook, Seventeen
Magazines and movie screens Still in her mind, she's seventeen Now her life has turned into make believe Her social status lingers She's slipping through
She was only seventeen Wild at heart and following her dreams But even she was pretty, got a ticket to the city Where she'd find her place on the cover
When he was about seventeen He stole a magazine 'dancing queen' The frontpage girl called marilyn She looked pretty, lean And quite obscene He knew She
of steel with a plan I'm not your seventeen girl but its not worth a can Of worms, I'm not your beauty queen I'm not the girl in glamour magazine
in the back door at Coconut Teasers, why even try? Well, I dropped out of school when I was seventeen ?Cause I didn?t have time to study my magazines
streets, I ain't trippin' homie Talk is cheap, acapellla or we can walk on a beat And if that ain't enough action I got seventeen pages in this little magazine
two And I close my eyes And I think of you We were only seventeen We were holding in our screams Like we'd torn it from the pages Of some lipstick magazine
sweetly smiled There she is again standin' over by the record machine Lookin' like a model on the cover of a magazine She's too cute to be a minute over seventeen
grip on how to get around, get around Welcome to hollywood Just got a grip on how to get around Dog eat dog is to be seen in the tabloid magazine Seventeen
is a tune for the poparazzi The who's who and the so and so's This is a tune for the graven images Of Marilyn Monroe We saw your face on the magazine