Guess you're old enough to know
Kids out on the east coast
Roughly twenty years old
They got coaxed out by a certain perfect ratio

Warm beer to the summer smoke
And the Meat Loaf to the Billy Joel
Certain songs, they get so scratched into our souls

She goes low on the seats when she gets high in her car
She looks shallow, but she's neck deep in the steamy dreams of the guys along the harbor bars
She's pulling out her shirttails and she's jacking up her socks
Stern and stoned and confident, coming up towards the jukebox
Born into the only songs that everybody finally sings along
B-1 is for the good girls, and it's "Only The Good Die Young"
C-9 is for the making eyes, and it's "Paradise By The Dashboard Light"
B-12 is for the speeders
And D4 is for the lovers
And the hard drugs are for the bartenders and the kitchen workers and the bartender's friends
And they're playing it again
And Ellen Foley gives 'em hope
And certain songs, they get scratched into our souls

I guess you're old enough to know
Kids out on the west coast are taking off their clothes
Screwing in the surf and going out to shows
They get high and they ride around in GTOs
Certain songs, they get so scratched into our souls
Certain songs, they get so scratched into our souls