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
Ah, pretty good
Maybe a bright sandy beach
Is going to bring you back, back, back
Maybe not so now you’re off
You’re going to see America
Well, let me tell you something about America
Pretty good year
Ah, pretty good
Some things are melting now
Some things are melting now well
Hey
What’s it going to take till my baby’s all right?
What’s it going to take till my baby’s all right?
Ah 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, pretty good
Ah, pretty good year