Your shirts are pressed
Your words are planned
Your jeans are ripped
Your skin is tan
And like the cancer in your hands
You plague this town with schemes and plans
It makes me sick that they cant see your own predictive irony
Youre at your peak and thats just fine
You take your moment and Ill take mine

I would like to believe the best of me is something I have yet to see
Because working at dead end jobs and skipping class
And spending hours on my ass, just doesnt sound like any fun to me

I hate to judge but I cant stop
Unless you step off your soap box
Because its caving in, and you cant tell
Youre busy checking out yourself
Oh youre SO deep, your taste is chic
But we both know that talk is cheap.
It matters least the words you shout if you dont know whats coming out

Its senior year and were all down with getting out of this old town
But your staying back youd rather stop because at this moment youre on top
But years will pass, well all come through
And youll be right just where we left you
And well realize you werent so cool, and that were all so over high school