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