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 neighbors

With his punk rock electric guitar

This is the sound

This is the sound of the suburbs

This is the sound

This is the sound of the suburbs

Every lousy Monday morning

Heathrow jets goes crashing over my home

Ten o'clock broad-moor siren

Driving me mad, won't leave me alone

The woman next store

Just sits and stares outside

She hasn't come out once

Ever since her husband died

This is the sound

This is the sound of the suburbs

This is the sound

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 practice 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

This is the sound of the suburbs

Saturday morning

Family shoppers crowding out the center of town

Young blokes sitting on the benches

Shouting at the young girls walking around

Johnny stands there at his window

Looking at the night

I said, hey what you listening to

There's nothing there

(That's right)

This is the sound

This is the sound of the suburbs

This is the sound

This is the sound of the suburbs