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A brown-skin girl wipes the suit from her window |
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Just to watch the sun rise over big city skies |
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Her falther awakes "Cuffs" lights his first cigarette |
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You know he's got to go when that factory whistle blows |
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So he walks out into the streets |
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And all of his friends that he meets |
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Wonder why did they ever leave their sunny island |
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The wind blows cold with it brings the snows |
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You live in hand to mouth next winter you move |
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South If your number falls or if you work those extra hours |
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But you only live in a dream |
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That carries you back on its wings |
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And all your friends just sit around the bar |
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And sing about your sunny island |
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And there ain't no surf |
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It's the sidewalks on 42nd street |
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And the natives down there |
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They ain't so friendly |
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In fact they would stick you |
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For the shoes on your feet |
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Just make you want to retreat |
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To your sunny island |
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The traffic eats the streets you're running from the heat |
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That keeps coming down pushing you into the ground |
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You're learning far too late your children learn to hate |
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The way you live but you got nomore to give |
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And in dockland they still arrive |
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With promised land in their eyes |
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And you just wish you could live out your life |
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On your sunny island |
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And there ain't no surf |
|
It's the sidewalks on 42nd street |
|
And the natives down there |
|
They ain't so friendly |
|
In fact they would stick you |
|
For the shoes on your feet |
|
Just make you want to retreat |
|
To your sunny island |
