| Barking and grunting and shouting like fools
|
| In stairwells and bathrooms and dry swimming pools
|
| Places where reverb resounds with a ring
|
| Why do the cops come when we start to sing?
|
| At the party we were wailing
|
| It was getting late and we were getting pretty pissed
|
| We hit a chord and how it buzzed
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| It felt as good as being kissed
|
| The four of us have a group
|
| But we’re not always a hit
|
| Sometimes the guests aren’t too impressed
|
| The ask us «please» won’t you quit all that
|
| Barking and grunting and shouting like fools
|
| In stairwells and bathrooms and dry swimming pools
|
| Places where reverb resounds with a ring
|
| Why do the cops come when we start to sing?
|
| We took ourselves out to the parking lot
|
| And tried to find that sweet sound again
|
| «Cut out that noise» the next door neighbor yelled
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| As he turned his stereo up to ten
|
| There’s a place for us
|
| Somewhere where we’ll find our sound
|
| An empty church with a holy echo
|
| Or a subway tunnel underground, we’ll be
|
| Barking and grunting and shouting like fools
|
| In stairwells and bathrooms and dry swimming pools |
| Places where reverb resounds with a ring
|
| Why do the cops come when we start to sing?
|
| At four in the morning if your window’s open
|
| We’ll be crooning in your dreams
|
| Searching for chords and moaning the blues
|
| Sorry if it sounds like screams
|
| Barking and grunting and shouting like fools
|
| In stairwells and bathrooms and dry swimming pools
|
| Places where reverb resounds with a ring
|
| Why do the cops come when we start to sing |