The Sound of the Surburbs
Same old boring Sunday morningOld man's out washing the carMum's in the kitchen cooking Sunday dinnerHer best meal, moaning while it lastsJohnny's upstairs in his bedroom sitting in the darkAnnoying the neighbours with his punk rock electric guitar
This is the soundThis is the sound of the suburbsThis is the sound of the suburbs
Every lousy Monday morningHeathrow jets go crashing over my homeTen o'clock and the Broadmoor SirenDriving me mad, won't leave me aloneThe woman next door just sits inside and criesShe hasn't come out once since her husband died (that's right)
This is the sound of the suburbsThis is the sound of the suburbs
Youth Club group used to want to be freeNow they want anarchyThey play too fast, they play out of tuneThey practise in the singer's bedroomThe drum's quite good, the bass is too loudAnd I can't hear the words
This is the soundThis is the sound of the suburbsThis is the sound of the suburbs
(This is the sound)Out there in the wilderness(The sound)There's a boy playing the guitar(Of the suburbs, the sound)(This is the sound of the suburbs)He's dreaming of writing a songThat would take him far far away from there
(This is the sound of the suburbs)This is the sound(This is the sound of the suburbs)This is the sound
This is the sound of the suburbs(Can't you hear)This is the sound of the suburbs(Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah)This is the sound of the suburbs(The one that I want)This is the sound of the suburbs