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

Ah-ha, 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

Pretty good year

Ah-ha, pretty good

Some things are melting now

Some things are melting now

Well, hey, what's it gonna take

'Til my baby's all right?

What's it gonna take

'Til my baby's all right?

Ah-ha

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

Ah-ha, pretty good

Ah-ha, pretty good year