|
It Never Rains in Southern California |
|
Rebecca |
|
Get you, brushing your hair with the wind |
|
Riding your bike up on Mulholland Drive |
|
Oh, I got a five-minute rush from you in your faded blue jeans |
|
How many years is it you've been alive? |
|
Oh, I'll take a guess, Rebecca, could it be eighteen, nineteen or so? |
|
Ooh, Rebecca, will I ever know? |
|
No way, where would I fit in your life? |
|
What would you do with a man without change |
|
Too strange and too poor to be trusted, rusted a couple of times |
|
Shaken a bit by the years on the road |
|
And the women I've known? Rebecca, you'd have liked the name I gave to you |
|
Ooh, Rebecca, if you only knew |
|
Go home |
|
To your father's friends |
|
Straight sons |
|
To your mother's friends |
|
Sweet ones |
|
to those families |
|
Well-to-do and so well-established |
|
And one day you might wake up to a shock, girl |
|
What has it come to this sensible life |
|
The wife of a fool? Rebecca, reading magazines in a chic salon |
|
Ooh, Rebecca. Where's Rebecca gone? |
