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

Writer : WILSON, BRIAN DOUGLAS/LOVE, MICHAEL EDWARD/JARDINE, AL
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing