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
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