Where Can I Find Romanized Likey Lyrics For Karaoke?

On the subway the first time I actually paid attention to the words of 'LIKEY', I found myself grinning like an idiot while everyone else scrolled their phones. There's something so brazen and playful about the lyrics — they're at once cute and a little desperate, which feels very human. The repeated 'likey likey' hook is the obvious earworm, but it's the small lines about posting photos, checking for likes, and pretending not to care that make the song land emotionally. Those little everyday confessions are what turn listeners into friends; I've sung them with coworkers during lunch breaks and watched strangers lip-sync in cafés. Musically the lyrics are built to be lived in: short phrases, conversational sentences, and clever use of onomatopoeia that match the choreography. That sync between what they're saying and what they're doing on screen makes the whole package feel authentic. The mix of Korean and a few English phrases lowers the barrier for global fans, and the chorus is easy to mimic — perfect for covers, dance challenges, and loud car rides. Personally, 'LIKEY' works because it captures a tiny modern truth without being preachy. It’s a little insecure, a little bold, and ridiculously catchy — and that combo keeps me hitting replay long after the commute is over.

Whenever 'Likey' comes on my playlist I can’t help but sing along—except when I confidently belt a totally different line than the actual lyrics. The title itself is the most notorious culprit: lots of listeners hear 'Likey' as 'I like you' or 'I like ya', which is understandable because of the way the chorus leans into a breathy, upbeat delivery. Other frequently misheard bits are quick ad-libs that sound like plain English words—'baby' and 'maybe' get swapped all the time, and fast consonant runs in the verses become things like 'look at me' or 'look at you' in people’s heads even if the original Korean syllables are different. Cause-wise, it's a cocktail: mix of mixed-language lyrics, compressed pop production, backing vocals, and that breathy pop timbre. Non-Korean speakers especially latch onto familiar English fragments and reshape the Korean syllables into something that fits their ear. My little trick is to check the official lyric video or a clean translation while listening on low volume; the difference between hearing a word in isolation and hearing it in context is wild. Fandom threads and subtitled covers are also a goldmine for clearing up these fun mishearings, and honestly, half the joy is sharing a laugh about what we thought they said versus what was actually sung.

Wow, I get the eagerness—'Likey' by 'Twice' is one of those songs that hooks you from the first listen. I can’t provide the full lyrics here, but I’m happy to help in other ways. If you want the words exactly, the best place to get them is straight from official sources: check the lyric video on 'Twice' or JYP Entertainment's official YouTube channel, streaming platforms like Spotify and Apple Music (they often include synced lyrics), or trusted lyric sites like Genius which also have annotated translations. Meanwhile, I can give you a solid rundown of the song: it’s a bubbly, high-energy track about wanting attention and feeling your heart race when someone likes your posts. The chorus hits with that catchy refrain and confessional vibes, while the verses build around social-media imagery and playful confidence. If you’d like, I can summarize each verse, offer a translation, or suggest a karaoke-friendly romanization so you can sing along—tell me which version you prefer and I’ll help out with that feeling in mind.

If you're digging into who actually wrote the lyrics for 'Likey', the short version is: the lyrics were penned by Seo Ji-eum. I’ve always loved that detail because her writing often nails that blink-and-you-feel-it pop-sensibility—teenage anxieties wrapped in catchy hooks—and 'Likey' is a prime example. The track itself was released as the lead single from 'Twicecoaster: Lane 1' in 2017, and the production was handled by Black Eyed Pilseung with Jeon Goon credited on the composition side. I still get a little thrill thinking about how the lyrics mirror social-media-era jitters—wanting attention, curating a perfect image—while the melody refuses to be anything but buoyant. When I first heard it on a sunny afternoon commute, the juxtaposition hit me: bright, addictive music with lyrics that feel like a tiny diary entry about craving validation. If you’re tracking credits for a playlist or a write-up, list Seo Ji-eum as the lyricist and Black Eyed Pilseung and Jeon Goon as the main creative team behind the song. It’s a neat little collaboration that shows why TWICE’s pop hooks stuck so fast.

I get a little giddy whenever someone asks about 'Likey' lyrics — it's one of those songs I still hum on the subway. If you want an English translation, the easiest starting point is the official 'Likey' upload on Twice's YouTube channel: toggle the CC/subtitles and often you'll find English subtitles or auto-translated captions. I always compare those with the song’s listing on Spotify or Apple Music because their lyric features sometimes include official translations too, and seeing the synced words while the song plays makes everything click. For deeper, fan-driven translations I head to Genius first. The line-by-line annotations on Genius often point out cultural references and alternate readings that official subs skip. I also love Color Coded Lyrics for K-pop — it gives Hangul, romanization, and multiple English translations side-by-side, which is gold when you're learning nuance. If I want raw Korean text to feed into a translator, I grab the original from Melon or Naver Music and then run it through Naver Papago; it’s usually better with Korean than generic machine translators. My ritual: watch the video with YouTube captions, open Genius for notes, and skim Color Coded for clarity. It’s a small ceremony that turns a three-minute earworm into something I can actually sing along to in Korean and English. Sometimes translations differ wildly — that’s a feature, not a bug. Fans interpret slang, tone, and even emojis differently, so I like to cross-check a couple of sources. If you’re picky about accuracy, look for community consensus on Reddit threads or fan sites, and if you want to practice singing, pull up the romanization too. Happy belting out the chorus next time it comes on; it’s impossible not to smile.

I get nerdy about credits more than my friends do — there’s something satisfying about knowing who actually made the songs I blast on repeat. For 'Likey' (Twice, 2017) the short, reliable route is: check the album booklet, the streaming service credits (Tidal and Spotify sometimes show full liner notes), or the Korean Music Copyright Association (KOMCA) database. Those official listings are where the lyricist(s), composer(s), and publisher information live. As for who legally owns what: typically the people listed as the lyricists and composers hold the copyright to the song’s composition (lyrics + melody), while the record label that released the track — in this case JYP Entertainment — owns the master recording copyright. Publishers or managing companies often administer the writers’ copyrights, collecting royalties on their behalf. So if you want to use the underlying song (cover, sample, sync for a video) you deal with the composition rights via publishers/PROs; if you want to use the actual Twice recording, you need permission from the master owner (JYP). If you want exact, up-to-date names for the lyric credits for 'Likey', KOMCA or the physical album notes will give you definitive proof — I check those when I’m curious or planning a cover, because it saves a ton of guesswork and legal headaches.

The first time I tried to subtitle 'LIKEY' I laughed at how quickly a cute pop chorus can become a translation mess. What seems like a simple hook—this playful 'I want you to like me' vibe—hides a handful of tricky bits once you start unpacking rhythm, slang, and cultural shading. For me the hardest lines aren’t the obvious English bits (the title practically begs to be left as 'LIKEY'); it’s the little connective phrases and the onomatopoeic baby-talk that carry attitude more than literal meaning. For example, lines that trade on cuteness and mock-self-deprecation are brutal. Korean often uses diminutive endings or clipped slang that signals teasing, embarrassment, or confident shrugging. A literal translation makes them flat. Then there are moments where syllable count and rhyme are everything—an enticing internal rhyme in Korean might force you to choose between keeping flow or keeping sense. I usually prioritize natural feeling for subtitles and lyrical translations, but for singable covers I’ll bend meanings to match rhythm. Also watch for cultural flashpoints: references to social-media vanity, beauty cues, or gendered expressions can read differently to international audiences. I found myself juggling literal fidelity, singability, and the smile the line is supposed to provoke. In short, the hardest lines are the small, personality-heavy ones—the ones that sound like offhand asides in Korean but carry the song’s mood. They’re the places where translation becomes interpretation, and I love that headache more than I probably should.

Whenever I hear the opening beat of 'Likey', I get that little rush like I'm scrolling through a feed and stop on a photo that feels electric. The lyrics are deliciously surface-level at first — a girl wants to be noticed, to have someone 'like' her — but there's a sly layer underneath about social-media culture. The Korean lines and playful English blend make 'likey' itself a kind of invented currency: not just affection, but validation measured in hearts and double taps. Watch the music video and the layers stack up. The Instagram-style interfaces, selfies, and close-ups of each member reframing themselves for the camera push the idea that identity gets curated. Some lines read as straightforward flirting, others as insecurity disguised as confidence. Translational nuances matter too; a phrase that seems coy in English can sound more vulnerable in Korean, which fans often pick apart when comparing lyric translations. I love that it works on both levels — bubblegum pop about crushes and a cheekier commentary about being consumed by metrics. It makes me smile and also nudges me to think about how we all perform for an audience now.