| Why should I care
|
| If I have to cut my hair?
|
| I’ve got to move with the fashions
|
| Or be outcast
|
| I know I should fight
|
| But my old man, he’s really alright
|
| And I’m still living at home
|
| Even though it won’t last
|
| Zoot suit, white jacket with side vents
|
| Five inches long
|
| I’m out on the street again
|
| And I’m leaping along
|
| I’m dressed right for a beach fight
|
| But I just can’t explain
|
| Why that uncertain feeling
|
| Is still here in my brain
|
| The kids at school
|
| Have parents that seem so cool
|
| And though I don’t want to hurt 'em
|
| Mine want me their way
|
| I clean my room and my shoes
|
| But my mother found a box of blues
|
| And there doesn’t seem much hope
|
| They’ll let me stay
|
| Zoot suit, white jacket with side vents
|
| Five inches long
|
| I’m out on the street again
|
| And I’m leaping along
|
| I’m dressed right for a beach fight
|
| But I just can’t explain
|
| Why that uncertain feeling
|
| Is still here in my brain
|
| Why do I have to be different to them?
|
| Just to earn the respect of a dance hall friend
|
| But we have the same old row again and again
|
| Why do I have to move with the crowd?
|
| Of kids that hardly notice I’m around
|
| I worked myself to death just to fit in
|
| I’m coming down
|
| Got home on the very first train from town
|
| My dad just left for work
|
| He wasn’t talking
|
| It’s all a game and inside I’m just the same
|
| My fried egg makes me sick
|
| First thing in the morning |