| Same old boring Sunday morning
|
| Old man’s out washing the car
|
| Mum’s in the kitchen cooking Sunday dinner
|
| Her best meal, moaning while it lasts
|
| Johnny’s upstairs in his bedroom sitting in the dark
|
| Annoying the neighbours with his punk rock electric guitar
|
| This is the sound
|
| This is the sound of the suburbs
|
| This is the sound of the suburbs
|
| Every lousy Monday morning
|
| Heathrow jets go crashing over our home
|
| Ten o’clock Broadmoor siren
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| Driving me mad, won’t leave me alone
|
| The woman next door just sits and stares outside
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| She hasn’t come out once ever since her husband died
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| Youth Club group used to want to be free
|
| Now they want Anarchy
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| They play too fast, they play out of tune
|
| Practise in the singer’s bedroom
|
| Drum’s quite good, the bass is too loud
|
| And I can’t hear the words
|
| Saturday morning family shoppers
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| Crowding out the centre of town
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| Young blokes sitting on the benches
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| Shouting at the young girls walking around
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| Johnny stands there at his window looking at the night
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| I said, «Hey, what you listening to? |
| There’s nothing there»
|
| That’s right!
|
| This is the sound of the suburbs
|
| This is the sound of the suburbs
|
| This is the sound. |
| (x 8)
|
| This is the sound of the suburbs. |
| (x 4) |