Oh the high school kids they're all fucked up Touching each other, oh my god Yeah and forty ounces was never enough We want to pass out in your yard We want to pass out Dressing in drag your best friend's clothes While boys kissed boys in hotel rooms Oh and just when we thought we were no longer lost They kicked us out into the dirty streets of Atlanta So it's Friday night down on North Avenue Where gas station parking lot prostitutes Tried to fix their hair in our rearview mirrors You know we're just trying to get to the club and shake our asses A caravan of kids, some big old mess On an old wooden dock, oh we're bored to death We've got a bottle of wine, a fresh pack of smokes We're going to end up screaming about some midnight garage sale So god, put down your gun, can't you see we're dead?God, put down your hand, we're not listening
some of the FEW people who have stood by me through everything.