With the cops on your lips it's a routine If you'd stop all your trips you could see what I mean I not to slip 'bout you're under 18 You had it in hands
Leave it up to me It's a disease Keep it in your fleece Don't worry about the customs don't I'll tell you how good it can be, this lazy summer
But you got no relief from pain in your head And it's hollow and greased and it says you're dead But you make fun and tease and the things you said They always stab your back And I've been holding for love ever since I had a heart