| Been on the bus
|
| Since a quarter to one
|
| I’m baking like a chicken on the bus in the setting sun
|
| Home, home, home
|
| Under the window
|
| Is that a shot or a car?
|
| I don’t know
|
| I don’t know
|
| I don’t know
|
| The city smoke
|
| And city choke
|
| And crackin’open
|
| I hear the city screaming
|
| I hear the city screaming
|
| Twenty-four hours
|
| All night, all day
|
| The city hums and boils and cracks and bleeds away
|
| Stir them around
|
| Stick them over a fire
|
| No wonder everybody’s strung up tighter than a God-damn piano wire
|
| The city smoke
|
| And city choke
|
| And crackin’open
|
| I hear the city screaming
|
| I hear the city screaming
|
| Crack the Whip
|
| And mister Jack the Knife
|
| Were doing their trip on the corner underneath the streetlight late last
|
| night
|
| One of the homeboys
|
| Just take it on home sweet home
|
| Well, you can blow your own self away but leave the rest of us alone
|
| The city die
|
| And City cry
|
| dehumanizing
|
| I hear the city screaming
|
| I hear the city screaming
|
| I hear the city screaming |