Oh L.A. pick up the phone I need to talk to you Stop sleeping with my new friends, And all the old ones too Remember when we met, I thought you thought I was boring You called me on the phone, to arrange my birthday party Well this ain't a scripted movie I don’t drive a fancy car Those flashing lights don’t mean a thing to me Goodbye L.A.
You showed me around the house You took me by the wrist You introduced me to your pals, the scientologists We cut the cake inside, Then I tried to fake a smile And I drank, and drank, and drank, 'cause I felt so out of style
Oh, this ain't my birthday ṗarty No, it's just a fashion show Yeah this is something, it just isn’t me So long L.A.
Well I do miss Hollywood, enjoy the hazy city I’m sure you’re feeling good But soon enough you’ll miss me But I ain’t got so much money And nobody knows my name But here is something I just have to say F*ck you L.A.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
