| L.A. girls, please act your age
|
| You treat me like I have the plague
|
| As I gyre and gimble in the wabe
|
| L.A. girls, please act your age
|
| Sweeten up your lemonade
|
| And meet me down at Tower 28
|
| I think I’m in Whiplash
|
| I’m losing it mixing ammonia and bleach
|
| I get off at Pico and sell my possessions
|
| So you will know just how I feel
|
| I love your long hair
|
| But you just don’t care
|
| So please help me fathom
|
| This world without music
|
| And by the way, when can we talk?
|
| L.A. girls, please act your age
|
| You treat me like I have the plague
|
| As I gyre and gimble in the wabe
|
| L.A. girls, please act your age
|
| Sweeten up your lemonade
|
| And meet me down at Tower 28
|
| So would you mind if I was pregnant?
|
| I’ll sleep on the edge of your bed
|
| Like Dante and Beatrice
|
| We’ll light up our candles
|
| But how is this going to end?
|
| The kids are asleep
|
| We’re haunting their dreams
|
| And some women swear it’s more painful than labor
|
| To die with your sins on your head
|
| Does anybody love anybody as much as I love you, baby?
|
| Does anybody love anybody as much as I love you, baby?
|
| Does anybody love anybody as much as I love you, baby?
|
| Does anybody love anybody as much as I love you, baby?
|
| L.A. girls, please act your age
|
| You treat me like I have the plague
|
| It’s the gyre and gimble in the wabe
|
| L.A. girls, please act your age
|
| Sweeten up your lemonade
|
| And meet me down at tower twenty-eight |