| You can tell the world you never was my girl |
| You can burn my clothes when I’m gone |
| Or you can tell your friends just what a fool I’ve been |
| And laugh and joke about me on the phone |
| You can tell my arms, go back onto the phone |
| You can tell my feet to hit the floor |
| Or you can tell my lips to tell my fingertips |
| They won’t be reaching out for you no more |
| But don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart |
| I just don’t think it’d understand |
| And if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart |
| He might blow up and kill this man |
| You can tell your Ma I moved to Arkansas |
| You can tell your dog to bite my leg |
| Or tell your brother Cliff who’s fist can tell my lips |
| He never really liked me anyway |
| Oh tell your aunt Louise, tell anything you please |
| Myself already knows that I’m not okay |
| Oh you can tell my eyes to watch out for my mind |
| It might be walking out on me today |
| Don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart |
| I just don’t think it’d understand |
| And if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart |
| He might blow up and kill this man |
| Don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart |
| I just don’t think it’d understand |
| And if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart |
| He might blow up and kill this man |
| Don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart |
| I just don’t think it’d understand |
| And if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart |
| He might blow up and kill this man |