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