Lemon gin, corn fields plowed under.

Cigarettes, Southern Comfort

with your friends behind the bleachers it's my first dance.

He's gonna beat it in the high school gym


It's almost summer, almost warm enough to swim.

Backyards are waiting.


He's got your name, he's got your number

He's got your name, he's got your number


The sun sets across the parking lot,

walking cool with your friends. 

Before the ready cops even know you're in the sand.

The night is waiting


Here he comes, you're a little nervous

Here he comes; well you're getting up the courage, yeah


The music sucks 

But he's your salvation

Cherry lip gloss, and you're what he's tasting yeah

Yeah yeah yeah


You're in his car getting high

Pair of fuzzy dice by the dashboard light

Super toke, gets smoke in his eyes

Your head is swimming with the anticipation and suddenly,

You're puking out the door with your pants around your knees

But he's a nice boy so he drops you on your street.

I can't believe it

Looks like you blew it


He's got your name; he's got your number

He's driving away; I want to bomb her yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah


So you stumble home

But you don't quite make it

You wake up on the lawn

Of your next door neighbor's

The sun is warm. 


It's almost summer, yeah