Going down a dirty inner city side road
|
I plotted
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Madness passed me by, she smiled hi
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I nodded
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Looked up as the sky began to cry
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She shot it.
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Met a girl from Dearborn, early six o'clock this morn
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A cold fact
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Asked about her bag, suburbia's such a drag
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Won't go back
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'Cos Papa don't allow no new ideas here
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And now he sees the news, but the picture's not too clear.
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Mama, Papa, stop
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Treasure what you got
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Soon you may be caught
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Without it
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The curfew's set for eight
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Will it ever all be straight
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I doubt it.
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7 jealous fools playing by her rules
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Can't believe her
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He feels so in between, can't break the scene
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It would grieve her
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And that's the reason why he must cry
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He'll never leave her.
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Crooked children, yellow chalk
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writing on the concrete walk
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Their King died
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Drinking from a Judas cup,
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looking down but seeing up
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Sweet red wine
|
'Cos Papa don't allow no new ideas here
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And now you hear the music
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but the words don't sound too clear.
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Mama, Papa, stop
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Treasure what you got
|
Soon you may be caught
|
Without it
|
The curfew's set for eight
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Will it ever all be straight
|
I doubt it.
|
Going down a dusty, Georgian side road
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I wonder
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The wind splashed in my face
|
can smell a trace
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Of thunder.
|
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-----------------
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Inner City Blues
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| Rodriguez |
