I Know Where The Summer Goes

I know where the summer goes
 When you're having no fun
 When you're under the thumb
 I know where the summer dwells
 When your underarm smells
 And your kitchen looks like hell
 I know where the summer goes
 When you're scraping a pot, and your head is hot
 Put your head down, put your thumbs up girl
 With the smell of hot desk
 And the glitter of your style
 He was right, he was right, he's the guru of this city
 No one told the city councillors
 I know, you can tell me again
 I've got my mobile phone
 Full of silicon chips
 No one likes a smart arse
 But I've seen a pattern emerge
 I will race you up the hill
 Where the boy who made records out of postcard messages
 And flowering cherries reign on kids like you
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 Look twice at the kid with the crimped, and overheated hair
 They ran a book on his look
 Odds on was the noble pose
 And the denim hard riff of the Irish Troubadour
 But the boy came from nowhere
 To steal the hearts from lassies in the lavvies of the club tonight