| I fell for guys who tried to commit suicide, | |
| With soft rock hair and blood shot eyes. | |
| He tastes like | |
| Marlboro cigarettes, | |
| Reese's Peanut | |
| Butter Cups, | |
| A Pepsi in his hand, getting off the school bus. | |
| Films and drills and safety illustrations | |
| The crushed cars of driver education | |
| Now its tattooed girls with a past they can't remember, | |
| Who pledged allegiance to a life of bending the curriculum. | |
| She tastes like spring, there she goes again, | |
| Drinking with the older guys, tripping by the lakeside. | |
| Films and drills and safety illustrations | |
| The crushed cars of driver education | |
| When you were sweet sixteen, | |
| I was already mean and | |
| Feeling bad for giving it up to the man just to make the scene. | |
| Where were you, back when | |
| I had something to prove, | |
| With the switchblade set and the church kids learning my moves? | |
| I ran for miles through the suburbs of the seventies, | |
| Pollen dust and | |
| Pixie sticks, kissing in the deep end | |
| Of swimming pools before | |
| I knew what's in there. | |
| We come into this life waterlogged and tender. | |
| Films and drills and safety illustrations |
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