| Am | Am | F | F |
| I’m sneaking | out to | night. | Through the |
| G | G | C \ Em/B | Am |
| warmth of the | night-air I’ll | pedal my | bike |
| F | F | C | C |
| from the | house where my | parents are | sleeping, |
| G | G | E7 | E7 |
| to the | house of my | rich mate whose | folks are in | Sweden. |
| Am | Am | F | F |
| I’m getting | drunk a | gain, | on a dead |
| G | G | C \ Em/B | Am |
| ly cock | tail of | booze and Co | bain. |
| F | F | C | C |
| I’ll reach Nir | vana by | one, | cause to |
| Dm | C/E | F | F/G |
| night my Teen | Spirit is | Bundaberg | Rum |
| F/G | F/G |
| C | G/C | F/C | C |
| I’ve got the fin | gers of | one hand | wrapped round the |
| F/C | C | G/C | F C \ |
| neck of a | bottle of | Jim Beam and | Cola and the |
| C | G/C | F/C | C |
| fingers of the | other hand | stuffed down the | pants of my |
| Dm | Dm | C/E | C/E |
| Best friend’s ex | girlfriend, or my | ex-best friend’s | girlfriend, or my |
| F(add9) | D7/F# | G | G |
| ex-girlfriend’s | best friend… | Who gives a | toss? |
| Fmaj7 | Fmaj7 | C/E | C/E|
| Gently mo | lesting your | peers | is |
| Eb6 | Dm7 | Dbmaj7 | Cmaj7 |
| all part and | parcel of | your teenage | years |
| Db7 | Cmaj7 | Db7 | Cmaj7 |
| | | Your teenage | years |
| Db7 | Cmaj7 | Db7 |
| | | To |
| F# | G | F# | G |
| night my assign | ment’s to | steal a | stop sign, it’s not |
| F# | G | F# | G |
| really a | crime, I’m just | freeing the | streets. To |
| F# | G | F# |G |
| night I will | gaze at the | stars, be a | mazed at how |
| F# | G | F# | G |
| far far a | way they all | are, gee I’m | deep |
I’ve got the fingers of one hand wrapped round
The handle of a coffee mug of warm Southern Comfort
And the fingers of the other hand struggling with the bra strap of a
Young girl called Sharlene who said she was 16
She looks more like 12, but then who gives a toss?
Cause undoing training brassieres
Is one of the pleasure of your teenage years
The guy sitting next to me’s offering me LSD
I try my best to be funky but firm
I tell him “not for me, I’ve just had KFC,
I never mix Chicken with hallucinogens”
I’ve got the fingers of one hand stroking the hair
Of a girl with a faulty gag reflex
And the fingers of the other hand struggling with the wrapper
Of a strawberry flavoured novelty condom
I never realized vaginas could taste
But learning to use all the gear
Is one of the missions of your teenage years
Looking out across the Swan, glistening in the rising sun
I have got the whole Goddamn world at my feet
In the beauty of the day-break I can’t help but contemplate
The nature of my maths project due in next week
I’ve got the fingers of one hand pressed to
The pulse of the heartbeat of my generation
And the fingers of the other hand wrapped ‘round the shaft
Of the pulsating knob of my teenage pretension
If I don’t write a poem, I’m going to explode
But masturbatory ideas
Are hard to repress during your teenage years
| Am | Am | F | F |
| I’m sneaking |home a | gain, | pedal |
| G | G | C \ Em/B | Am |
| ling through the | mist of a | light morning | rain. Like a |
| F | F | C | C |
| bird flying | back to it’s | cage, | I’m |
| G | G | E7 | E7 |
| stuck in what | seems an e | ternal teen | age. I |
| Am | Am | F | F |
| ride towards the ris | ing | sun | as |
| G | G | C \ Em/B | Am |
| free as the | lyrics of | Jim Morri | son. I’ll be |
| F | F | C | C |
| back in bed | by six o’ | clock |there’ll be |
| Dm | C/E | F | G |
| plenty of | time to dash | one off the | wrist before |
| Am | Am | Bb7(#11) | Bb9 |
| Dad | comes to | wakes | |
| G | G | Cmaj7 | Db7 |
| | me | up | |
| Cmaj7 | Db7 | Cmaj7 | Db7 |
| Cmaj7 |
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