Born in the troubled city
in rock and roll USA
in the shadow of the tallest building,
I vowed I would break away.
Listened to the Sunday actors
but all they would ever say:
That you can't get away from it.
No you can't get away.
No you can't get away from it.
No you can't get away.

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,
'cause Papa don't allow no new ideas here,
and now he sees the news, but the picture's not too clear."

Woman, please be gone.
You've stayed here much too long.
Don't you wish that you could cry?
Don't you wish I would die?
Seamy seesaw kids.
Child-women on the skids.
The dust will choke you blind.
The lust will choke your mind.
I kiss the floor, one kick, no more.
The pig and hose have set me free.
I've tasted Hate Street's hanging tree.
I've tasted Hate Street's hanging tree.

I've played every kind of gig there is to play now.
I've played faggot bars, hooker bars, motor cycle funerals,
in opera houses, concert halls, halfway houses.
Well, I found that in all these places that I've played
all the people that I've played for are the same people.
So if you'll listen, maybe you'll see someone you know in this song.
A most disgusting song.