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