Going down a dirty inner city side road I plotted Madness passed me by, she smiled hi I nodded Looked up as the sky began to cry She shot it
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
Seven 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.
