Inner City Blues

Going down a dirty inner city side road, I plotted

Madness passed me by, she smiled, "Hi", I nodded

Looked up as the sky began to cry, she shot it

Met a girl from Dearborn, early six o'clock this morn

A cold fact

Asked about her bag, suburbia's such a drag, won't go back

'Cause papa don't allow no new ideas here

And no he sees the news, but the picture is not too clear

Mama, papa, stop, treasure what you got

Soon you may be caught without it

The curfew's set for eight

Will it ever all be straight, I doubt it

Seven jealous fools playing by her rules, can't believe her

He feels so in between, can't break the scene

It would grieve her

And that's the reason why he must cry

He'll never leave her

Crooked children, yellow chalk, writing on the concrete walk

Their king died

Drinking from a Judas cup, looking down but seeing up

Sweet red wine

'Cause papa don't allow no new ideas here

And now you hear the music

But the words don't sound to clear

Mama, papa, stop, treasure what you got

Soon you may be caught without it

The curfew's set for eight

Will it ever all be straight, I doubt it

Going down a dusty Georgian side road, I wonder

The wind splashed in my face, can smell a trace of thunder