| I can’t hardly recognize the place I grew up to know
|
| They push the old aside and let the new unfold
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| It’s those who hear the sound of re-modelled paradise
|
| At the hiss of a plastic surgeon’s knife
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| Sometimes I look through people’s windows, babe
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| I see them lonely with technology
|
| I see lovers going through the motions
|
| Hear them moaning and yearning, now
|
| I’m a city pigeon
|
| Flying through the city
|
| Inner city pigeon
|
| I’m always hot and bothered, and I’m ready
|
| And I’m never coming down
|
| No, I’m never coming down
|
| Inner city pigeon
|
| I ain’t never coming down
|
| I saw people put their power on display
|
| Like pigs who shoot dark skinned men in the U.S.A
|
| They might be executive heroes amongst their friends
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| But no soap will make their hands smell clean again
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| Sometimes I fly by people’s windows, babe
|
| I see them lonely with technology
|
| I see lovers going through the motions
|
| Hear them moaning and yearning, now
|
| I’m a city pigeon
|
| Flying through the city
|
| Inner city pigeon
|
| I’m always hot and bothered, and I’m ready
|
| And I’m never coming down
|
| No, I’m never coming down
|
| Inner city pigeon
|
| I ain’t never coming down |