Tears on the sleeve of a man, don't wanna be a boy today.
I heard the eternal footman bought himself a bike to race.
And Greg, he writes letters, and burns his CD's,
They say you were something in those formative years.
Well hold on to nothing as fast as you can.
Well... still, pretty good year… pretty good.

Maybe a bright sandy beach is gonna bring you back.
Maybe not, so now you're off, you're gonna see America.
Well let me tell you something about a
Nanah, nanah, nanah, nanah, nanah, na-America.
Pretty good year... pretty good.

Somethings are melting now. 
Somethings are melting now well,
Hey! What's it gonna take 'till my baby's all right?

And Greg, he writes letters with is birthday pen.
Sometimes he's aware that they're drawing him in.
Lucy was pretty, your best friend agreed.
Well... still pretty good year... pretty good... 
Pretty good year.