Going down a dirty inner city side road nI plottednMadness passed me by, she smiled hinI noddednLooked up as the sky began to crynShe shot it.nnMet a girl from Dearborn, early six o'clock this mornnA cold factnAsked about her bag, suburbia's such a dragnWon't go backn'Cause Papa don't allow no new ideas herenAnd now he sees the news, but the picture's not too clear.nnMama, Papa, stop nTreasure what you gotnSoon you may be caughtnWithout itnThe curfew's set for eightnWill it ever all be straightnI doubt it.nn7 jealous fools playing by her rules nCan't believe her nHe feels so in between, can't break the scene nIt would grieve her nAnd that's the reason why he must crynHe'll never leave her. nnCrooked children, yellow chalknwriting on the concrete walk nTheir King died nDrinking from a Judas cup, nLooking down but seeing up nSweet red winen'Cause Papa don't allow no new ideas here nAnd now you hear the musicnBut the words don't sound too clear.nnMama, Papa, stop nTreasure what you gotnSoon you may be caughtnWithout itnThe curfew's set for eightnWill it ever all be straightnI doubt it.nnGoing down a dusty, Georgian side roadnI wondernThe wind splashed in my facenCan smell a tracenOf thunder.