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Tears on the sleeve of a man Don't want to be a boy today I heard the eternal footman Bought himself a bike to race And Greg he writes letters And burns his CDs They say you were something In those formative years Well hold onto nothing as fast as you can Well Still pretty good year... Pretty good... Maybe a bright sandy beach Is gonna bring you back Back... back... back... Maybe not So now you're off You're gonna see America Well let me tell you Something about America Pretty good year... A-ha pretty good Some things ARE melting now Some things ARE melting now WELL what's it gonna take 'till my baby's alright What's it gonna take 'till my baby's alright And Greg he writes letters With his birthday pen Sometimes he's aware that They're drawing him in Lucy was pretty Your best friend agreed, well Still pretty good year... Ah-ha, pretty good Ah-ha, pretty good year... |
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