Tears on the sleeve of a man
Don't wanna be a boy today
I heard the eternal footman 
Bought himself a bike to race

And Greg he writes letters and burns his CD's
They say you were something in those formative years
Hold onto nothing as fast as you can
Well, still pretty good year
Oh, pretty good

Maybe a bright sandy beach
Is gonna bring you 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
Oh, pretty good

Some things are melting now
Some things are melting now
Well, hey, what's it gonna take
'Til my baby's alright
What's it gonna take
'Til my baby's alright

And Greg he writes letters with his birthday pen
Sometimes he's aware that they're drawing him in
But Lucy was pretty, your best friend agreed

Well, still pretty good year
Oh, pretty good
Oh, pretty good year