The Sound of the Suburbs

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 goes crashing over my home
Ten o'clock and Broadmoor siren driving me mad won't leave me alone
The woman next door just sits inside and cries
She hasn't come out once since her husband died (that's right)

This is the sound of the suburbs
This is the sound of the suburbs

Youth club group used to want to be free
Now they want anarchy
They play too fast, they play out of tune
They practise in the singers bedroom
The drums quite good the bass is too loud
And I can't hear the words

This is the sound
This is the sound of the suburbs
This is the sound of the suburbs

Out there in the wilderness
There's a boy playing the guitar
He's dreaming of writing a song
That will take him far far far away from there

This is the sound
This is the sound

This is the sound of the suburbs
This is the sound of the suburbs
This is the sound of the suburbs
This is the sound of the suburbs