The town where we live
Has it’s own special smell
It’s a little like sea-food
And sex on the back-seat
And there’s girls I got to know
Who were happy to have someone
And we kissed in the little forest
Where the freeway went by

It was mostly on Saturdays
When they tested the sirens
I looked up to the sky
But I never saw rockets
The streets lay there peaceful
With hell in every living-room
Big cars on the drive-way
Screams on the telephone

And there’s always the Sundays
When the flagpoles stand tall
And daddy gets his rifle
And his smile says it all
He’s gonna go out shooting
Till there’s blood on his hands
And mama starts crying
Cause she ran out of methadone

I was young enough to make it
So I left when I could
And I never said goodbye
Cause I don’t do much talking
And I ain’t gonna think about it
Cause I don’t think it helps
And I ain’t gonna cry about it
Cause crying’s for babies