There's a boy on a bicycle who wants to shoot me
The hounds on the wire they want to loose me

The oboes are blaring from my Blaupunkts
The city nursery is full of new junk

This is the way that the days work out around here
Take my hand, there's a stead lad my bus fare I hold dear

Strangers grabbing on to what they are told
The wayward junkies -- growing all too bold

The oboes are blaring from my Blaupunkts
The city nursery is full of new junk