Bienvenidos al "Infierno".

She's got tangled hair and cigarettes
Cursing like a sailor on the ocean in her eyes
But she's not my type at all
Five star dinner with a t-shirt on
Laughing too loud and a bit too long
And I think she's not my type at all
She's got pieces of me, wrapped around her fingertips
Started slow but moving quickly to her heaven

No she's not my type at all.

Not my type at all. - Jacob Whitesides.