One weekend in the Corte Inglés*
You convinced me to buy you an internet connection
Damned moment, it was my ruin
Because since that day we don't make love anymore
You don't look at me, i mean nothing to you anymore
And if insinuate you say "for what?"
With those bodies and what they spend
Women of the PC are cheaper for you
And you prefer to spend the whole day stuck to the screen
You're a sick man, you're a sick man
You're a cybersex sick man
You cheat on me, you cheat on me
www.hotchicks.com
Look darling, this is hell
Look darling, i want a separation
You're a sick man, you're a sick man
You're a cybersex sick man
You cheat on me, you cheat on me
With the hard disk, the screen and the mouse
Look darling, this is hell
Look darling, i want a separation
One of those nights that i could not sleep
I heard some strange noises
It was my husband making love
To a (girl named) Pamela on the computer
You don't love me, you don't need me anymore
Internet love is a poison without comparison
And if i act sexy you say to my face
That the flat tariff compensates much more
But one of these days when i'll be in a bad mood
I'll make you eat the screen
You're a sick man, you're a sick man
*Spanish department store