Texty: Sixto Rodriguez. Inner City Blues.

Going down a dirty inner city side road

I plotted

Madness passed me by, she smiled hi

I nodded

Looked up as the sky began to cry

She shot it.



Met a girl from Dearborn, early six o'clock this morn

A cold fact

Asked about her bag, suburbia's such a drag

Won't go back

'Cos Papa don't allow no new ideas here

And now he sees the news, but the picture's not too clear.



Mama, Papa, stop

Treasure what you got

Soon you may be caught

Without it

The curfew's set for eight

Will it ever all be straight

I doubt it.



7 jealous fools playing by her rules

Can't believe her

He feels so in between, can't break the scene

It would grieve her

And that's the reason why he must cry

He'll never leave her.



Crooked children, yellow chalk

writing on the concrete walk

Their King died

Drinking from a Judas cup,

looking down but seeing up

Sweet red wine

'Cos Papa don't allow no new ideas here

And now you hear the music

but the words don't sound too clear.



Mama, Papa, stop

Treasure what you got

Soon you may be caught

Without it

The curfew's set for eight

Will it ever all be straight

I doubt it.



Going down a dusty, Georgian side road

I wonder

The wind splashed in my face

can smell a trace

Of thunder