I never know what to say
It's not my fault I'm always late
The party’s always over by the time that I get there
Someone said it's not that great
Pack up, ship out, gather all your things
Who (the fuck) are you? Where is your class ring?
Telling tales of revelry
The accountant Steve leans over to me
Then tells me about his fiscal year
Walking around so nervously
Wondering if they notice me
Then I go and spill a beer
Pack up, ship out, gather all your things
Who (the fuck) are you? Where is your class ring?
