Met a girl from Dearborn, early six o'clock this morn A cold fact
Asked about her bag, suburbia's such a drag Won't go back
'Cos Papa don't allow no new ideas here And now he sees the news, but the picture's not too clear.
Mama, Papa, stop Treasure what you got Soon you may be caught Without it
The curfew's set for eight Will it ever all be straight I doubt it.
7 jealous fools playing by her rules Can't believe her
He feels so in between, can't break the scene It would grieve her
And that's the reason why he must cry He'll never leave her.
Crooked children, yellow chalk writing on the concrete walk Their King died
Drinking from a Judas cup, looking down but seeing up Sweet red wine
'Cos Papa don't allow no new ideas here And now you hear the music but the words don't sound too clear.
Mama, Papa, stop Treasure what you got Soon you may be caught Without it
The curfew's set for eight Will it ever all be straight I doubt it.
Going down a dusty, Georgian side road I wonder
The wind splashed in my face Can smell a trace Of thunderTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
