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.
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