Watching everybody leaving, I tell myself, "Looks can be deceiving." Oh, I'm hoping that I'm not dead right This after hours, afterlife I'm not ready to die in style tonight. Tried to follow you out, But I did not know where you'd be leading on, And you might think people don't live through being dead wrong. Well I guess that your parents must have raised a themselves a strictly pious daughter, 'Cause you move through this crowd just like parting water. Oh you dress so nice You dress to kill They drop like flies But who's the funeral for? Afterwhile these hot, hot nights can turn everything sour Oh, I know it's not hard to get in trouble after hours.