I know where the summer goes When you're having no fun When you're under the thumb I know where the summer dwells If your underarm smells And your kitchen looks like hell
I know where the summer goes If you're scraping a pot, and your head is hot Put your head down, put your thumbs up girl With the smell of hot desk And the glitter of your step He was right, he's the upcoming guru of the city No one told the city councillors
I know, you can tell me again I've got my mobile phone Full of silicon chips No one likes a smart arse But I've seen a pattern emerge I will race you up the hill Where the boy who made records out of postcard messages And flowering cherries rain on kids like you
Look twice at the kid with the crimped And overheated hair They ran a book on his looks Odds on was the noble pose and The denim hard riff of the Irish Troubadour But the boy came from nowhere to Steal the hearts of lassies in the lavvies of the club tonight
