[INTRO] [Southern drawl] [Single guitar] [Crowd ambience] Summer's dyin' in the rear-view haze, Last few sparks in the dog-day blaze. [RIFF KICKS IN] [VERSE 1] [Half-time groove] [Punchy delivery] Said "boys, we got about six weeks left, 'Til the weather turns and the fun gets theft." Built a trolley tower by the bowling green, Ten metres tall and obscenely lean. Zip-ties, hope, and a prayer for luck, Looked straight up and said "that'll fuckin' hold up." Bought a smoke machine from a bloke named Rick, For reasons that remain scientifically thick. Parked it deep in a cul-de-sac, Made the whole damn suburb think Satan was back. [PRE-CHORUS] [Build] [Gang vocals join] Bad ideas got momentum now, Can't stop the train and we won't learn how. [CHORUS] [Big gang vocals] [Wide open] DUMB SHIT SUMMER! Raise hell, raise dust, Raise questions nobody should trust. DUMB SHIT SUMMER! No regrets, no plan, Just a lighter and a sunburnt can. DUMB SHIT SUMMER! If it's stupid then we're probably in, One last season of magnificent sin. [VERSE 2] [More aggressive] Released four hundred thirty-four poodles loose, On the back nine fairways of the Country Club course. Tiny white clouds in coordinated flight, Turned eighteen holes into a woolly dogfight. Old mate Doug hit a perfect drive, Lost his ball and his will to survive. Saw thirty-seven poodles chase a golf cart down, Like a fluffy apocalypse rollin' through town. Rented a bouncy castle for the nursing home crew, Figured Nana deserved some airtime too. Saw eighty-three years of restraint unwind, When Gladys hit a backflip and transcended time. [PRE-CHORUS] [Drums building] [Double-time vocal pickup] The nurses screamed, The residents cheered, The management vanished, The lawyers appeared. [CHORUS] [Bigger] [Extra gang vocals] DUMB SHIT SUMMER! Raise hell, raise dust, Raise questions nobody should trust. DUMB SHIT SUMMER! No regrets, no plan, Just a lighter and a sunburnt can. DUMB SHIT SUMMER! If it's stupid then we're probably in, One last season of magnificent sin. [BREAKDOWN] [Half-time] [Crushing riff] [Call and response] WHO BOOKED THE GOATS? WE BOOKED THE GOATS! WHO TAUGHT 'EM SONGS? NOBODY KNOWS! [RIFF DROP] [VERSE 3] [Syncopated] [Almost spoken] Started a mariachi band with a herd of goats, Tied little bowties around their throats. Had one on trumpet and one on snare, One just screamed at a folding chair. Booked a local gig by the river bend, Crowd showed up just to see how it'd end. Halfway through "La Bamba" in a minor key, The drummer goat achieved true divinity. Mayor pulled up in an angry state, Said "this violates at least laws eight." Goat hit a note that shattered glass, Mayor bought a shirt and joined our ass. [BUILD] [Drums ramping] [Crowd chants] One! Last! Bad! Idea! One! Last! Bad! Idea! [FINAL CHORUS] [Double chorus] [Maximum gang vocals] DUMB SHIT SUMMER! Raise hell, raise dust, Raise questions nobody should trust. DUMB SHIT SUMMER! No regrets, no plan, Just a lighter and a sunburnt can. DUMB SHIT SUMMER! When September comes we'll deny it all, Every dumb decision, every near-free fall. DUMB SHIT SUMMER! Burnt our dignity right to the ground, Best damn season that we never wrote down. [OUTRO] [Gang vocals fading] [Cowbell] Dumb shit summer... Dumb shit summer... See y'all next mistake.
