Pretty Good Year

Tears on the sleeve of a man Don't want to be a boy today I heard the eternal footman Bought himself a bike to race And Greg he writes letters and burns his CDs They say you were something in those formative years Hold onto nothing as fast as you can Well, still, pretty good year Pretty good Maybe a bright sandy beach Is gonna bring you back, back, back Maybe not, so now you're off You're gonna see America Well let me tell you something about America Some things are melting now Some things are melting now Well, hey, what's it gonna take 'Til my baby's all right now What's it gonna take 'Till my baby's all right Greg, he writes letters with his 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