Well, she grew up and hid in a townHad a good-looking mama, never was aroundAnd she grew up tall and she grew up rightWith the Indian boys on the Indian nightWell, she moved down here at the age of eighteenBlew the boys away, was more than eighteenI was introduced in the post-dialect clothingI said, I'll take you, babyBut I gotta keep movingOh, keep movingLast is a merry dreamNo more time to kill the painI feel summer creeping inAnd I'm tired of this town againWell, I don't know, but I've been toldYou never slow down, you never grow oldYou're tired of screwing upTired of going downTired of myselfTired of this townWhoa, my, myWhoa, hell yesYou got to put on that party dressBuy me a drinkSing me a songTake me as I comeCause I can't stay aloneLast is a merry dreamNo more time to kill the painI feel summer creeping inAnd I'm tired of this town againAnd I keep on going upAnd I say, yeah, little boy, yeahWhy are you an *?Written off with a nice GabbyWhat can they do you want?I don't know who you areHey, I'm benchedI'm seriously brokenow on market square she's sitting in her underwear looking down from her hotel roomnot far we'll be comingoh my mouth oh hell yes got to put on that party dress he was too cold to cry when i woke up alonehit the last number walk to the roomhalf in summer creeping in and outtired of this town againyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahguitar sologuitar sologuitar solo