| You say you like New York better than L. A
|
| And I just sit there
|
| I believe that you like looking like a Ramone
|
| And I would rather kiss a Beach Boy
|
| Feel the sand beneath my toes
|
| And feel the sun burn up my nose
|
| I’ll give you all of my black clothes
|
| Just light your smoke and watch me go
|
| Come come come again?
|
| What was that you said?
|
| Listen carefully
|
| And maybe then you’ll see
|
| That this time, this time, next year, next year
|
| I won’t be here
|
| This time, this time, next year, next year
|
| I won’t be here
|
| 'Cause I’m so sick of dreary winters
|
| And mornings spent in subway stations
|
| Going to a job I hate
|
| More and more with every day
|
| I want the lifestyle of the rich and famous
|
| While you prefer to remain nameless
|
| But that’s you, hey, and this is me
|
| I’m gonna live the fantasy
|
| Come come come again?
|
| What was that you said?
|
| Listen carefully
|
| And maybe then you ll see
|
| That this time, this time, next year, next year
|
| I won’t be here
|
| This time, this time, next year, next year
|
| I won’t be here
|
| This time, next year, I won’t, be here
|
| You say you like New York better than L. A
|
| And I just sit there
|
| I believe that you like looking like a Ramone
|
| When I would rather kiss a Beach Boy
|
| Come come come again?
|
| What was that you said?
|
| Listen carefully
|
| And maybe then you’ll see
|
| Come come come again?
|
| What was that you said?
|
| Listen carefully
|
| And maybe then you’ll see
|
| That this time, this time, next year, next year
|
| I won’t be here
|
| This time, this time, next year, next year
|
| I won’t be here
|
| This time, next year, I won’t, be here
|
| This time, this time, next year, next year
|
| I won’t be here
|
| This time, this time, next year, next year
|
| I won’t be here
|
| This time, next year, I won’t, be here
|
| Come come come again?
|
| What was that you said?
|
| Listen carefully
|
| And maybe then you’ll see… |