The last ones up become loversnThe last ones up become loversnnThe last ones up become loversnThe last ones up become loversnThe last ones up become loversnnThe last ones up become loversnnI just got back from a bendernThe skin on my back all scratched up in splintersnI spent the night in the right field bleachersnnMet up with six stick tweakersnAnd a seventh grade teachernSaid it didn't matternSaid school's out for the summernnAnd the nightclubbers bounce like rubbernAnd they bounce into sweaty slumbernSharing wine like they did at the last suppernnThe last ones up become loversnThe last ones up become loversnThe last ones up, they always become loversnnAnd if the night is a stormnAnd then it washed us ashorennWoke up in the grandstandnPoking holes with a hair pinnThrough a flattened out Sprite cannWe make our pipes with whatever we can, mannnWe've got nails through our handsnAnd alcoholic tansnI've got good friends in bad bandsnI know bad guys in great bandsnnIt starts out under the guise of a back rubnAnd the last ones awake, nThey always make lovenAnd the last ones awake,nThey always seem to make lovennIt starts out with a back rubnAnd the last ones awake, nThey always seem to make lovenThe last ones awake,nThey always make lovennAnd it starts with a back rubnAnd it ends up in backlashnAnd it starts with an eyelashnAnd it ends with a thrashingnnAnd it starts out high fashionnAnd it ends up in ragsnAnd it starts out with pony bagsnAnd it ends up on scalesnnAnd it starts out with consumption and possessionnBut always exercising a little bit of discretionnAnd it ends up in salesnnWe started out going out on the townnWe ended up stuck at home waiting to come downnWe started out chasing our dreamsnWe ended up getting chased all over by our nightmaresnAnd now we're sending up flaresnnWe're breaking off the flame guardsnOn disposable lightersnWe're scroungers, not fightersnWe're hookers not loversnnForty days and forty nightclubbersnForty days and forty nightclubbersnnAnd the last ones up become lovers