My daughter's no rocket scientist.
She's actually a con-artist.
But she's a genius, in her own right.
And she can dictate me, day and night.
Pretty smiles, pretty smiles, and I lost the throne.
Twinkle eyes, twinkle eyes, all my money gone.
It's such a wonder that she has the magic.
Her guile and wit is truly fantastic.
Sometimes I get mad, and she'll be sad.
Then I feel bad, I'm a terrible dad.
Twinkle eyes, twinkle eyes, is what I need.
So I give her a kiss, and let my wallet bleed.
My daughter is no rocket scientist.
She is what I call a genius con-artist.
And now that she's bigger, she gets angry at me.
She's starting to realize, she got a stupid daddy.
So I give her my version of twinkle eyes, twinkle eyes.
Yet I can't even get her to buy me french fries.
So then I'll be sad, and she'll feel bad.
Then she'll get mad, she's got an emo dad.
Now that she's all grown up, she thinks like a rocket scientist.
And she concluded, that her dad's a con-artist.
So I dare give her the twinkle eyes, twinkle eyes.
That at the end of the day she gives me a peck on the cheek.
And I'm like, stupid smiles, stupid smiles.
