The New Year's getting older, the February roses withered awayThe sun keeps getting closer, it's getting a little slower every dayOoh, it's getting louder at the lights, music clashing in the streetMoons shining on the parking lot doorsTanned legs in the night, sliding out of the seatStilettos at the crosswalkI graduated, but every year in May I get that school's out feelingI feel it creeping in every day's a weekend and I'm drowning in the freedomPlay me no more bikinis, party girls and martinis in the sunshineThe private school daughters are never goingI don't want no water, keeping their hedges rightI know it's September, I don't remember how much I love herI'm single for the sun, single for the summerI've gone off the deep end, the company I'm keeping is messing me upGood girls are home sleeping, while I'm out creepingThe sun comes upOoh, I got my phone face down and my hair combed backRiding round, getting good at the gameSaying the wrong things right, chasing Midtown girlsHolding hands and forgiving their namesI graduated, but every year in May I get that school's out feelingDon't wanna leave her, but dammit I'm not a cheater and I can't help leavingPlay me no more bikinis, party girls and martinis in the sunshineThe private school daughters are never going to waterKeeping their heads just rightI know it's SeptemberI'm gonna remember how much I love herI'm single for the summerSingle for the summerOhAll of these video fagsCan make you forget a goodbye sadTrying to make a good guy badBlame it on the bikinis, party girls and martinis in the sunshinePrivate school daughters are never going to waterKeeping their heads just rightI know it's SeptemberI'm gonna remember how much I love herI'm single for the summerSingle for the summerI'm single for the summerSingle for the summerSingle for the summerWhy do I love all of this sitting here?Why do I love all of this sitting here?Why do I love all of this sitting here?Why do I love all of this sitting here?I love all of these city girls, with pretty eyesTown owner mum, being broken heartedBitch girls, the debutantesThe small town runawaysAll dolled up at the bar, with debit cardsThey don't know how pretty they areCity girls, city girlsCity girlsCity girlsIt tastes like morning