Lyrics

Lemon gin, corn fields plowed under Cigarettes, Southern Comfort With your friends behind the bleachers tonight there's a dance He's gonna be there 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 Avoid the rent-a-cops even though you're innocent 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; Aw what a bummer 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 neighbors The sun is warm It's almost summer, yeah