I Know Where the Summer Goes

I know where the summer goes When you're having no fun When you're under the thumb I know where the summer dwells When your underarm smells And your kitchen looks like hell I know where the summer goes When 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 style He was right, he was right, he's the guru of this 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 reign on kids like you Look twice at the kid with the crimped, and overheated hair They ran a book on his look 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 from lassies in the lavvies of the club tonight