With the cops on your lips it's a holy routine
If you'd stop all your trips you could see what I mean
I forgot not to slip 'bout you're under 18

You had it in your hands

Leave it up to me

It's a known disease
Keep it in your fleece
Don't worry about the custom police, don't

I'll tell you just how good it can be, this lazy summer

But you got no relief from the pain in your head

And it's hollow and greased and it says that you're dead
But you make fun and tease and the things that you said
They always stab your back

And I've been holding out for love ever since I had a heart