Summer's over, the town is free
To shine its lonely light on me
It wraps itself around
The awenings all come down
7-11 for a pack
Under the trees it's nearly black
Panic for your first attack
It's brisk outside
You're neatly packed
She ain't buying none of it
Says that you're all full of shit
Fuck you dad
You're not me
I'm not you
Don't you have better things to do
Than fuck with me
I'm so mad
Fuck you dad!
Don't you have better things to do
Don't you have better things to do
Don't you have better things to do
Better things to do
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