Lyrics:

Tears on the sleeve of a man
Don't want to be a boy today
I heard the eternal footman
Bought himself a bike to race

And Greg he writes letters and burns his CDs
They say you were something in those formative years
Hold onto nothing as fast as you can

Well, still, pretty good year
Pretty good

Maybe a bright sandy beach
Is gonna bring you back, back, back
Maybe not, so now you're off
You're gonna see America
Well let me tell you something about America

Pretty good year
A-ha, pretty good

Some things are melting now
Some things are melting now
Well, hey, what's it gonna take
Till my baby's alright?
What's it gonna take
Till my baby's alright?

Greg, he writes letters with his birthday pen
Sometimes he's aware that they're drawing him in
Lucy was pretty, your best friend agreed

Well, still, pretty good year
A-ha, pretty good
A-ha, pretty good year