Pretty girl, wreckin' bar
Ra, ra, ra, ra, yeah you are
Growing up, I'm twice the man
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah I am The Angel's Game, F. Scott Fitzgerald
The evening news and the Morning Herald
I know they're not from very far
But les femmes la-bas, c'est pas de joie Where you been? You can't say?
Hey, hey, hey, hey, yeah, you may
That might seem a bit below
No, no, no, no, it's funny though Let's go home, I think we oughta
I know you're your mother's daughter
Well brought up and royal blue
And I haven't got the time for you Finger pointing, presupposing
Watch out, man, the doors are closing
This is what you get when you turn your back
A clear blue sky turning dirty black