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