| Well the sun pokes through blonde street
|
| And shines on the cracks
|
| On the walls and the heartaches
|
| And they never shine back
|
| Patsy clutches her rosary
|
| And from her window she sees
|
| Lots of social interaction
|
| From the people down on blonde street
|
| Through the peephole she sees the landlord
|
| Who’s come for more than her rent
|
| He says, «I'm kicking you out pronto
|
| Unless your body gives me consent»
|
| But patsy won’t give into just any guy
|
| Crushed like a grape
|
| From where she must hide… you see
|
| Life is not her cup of tea… yeah
|
| But she says
|
| «I wanna live on blonde street
|
| I wanna live on blonde street»
|
| There’s a baby in the next room
|
| Watchin' some guy die on TV
|
| There are lovers in the basement
|
| Havin' some kind of touchin' spree
|
| Down the hall there’s young Jimbo
|
| Who’s got his heart in hell
|
| 'Cause the girlfriend he got pregnant
|
| Is going on sally Jesse Raphael
|
| Patsy laughs at her girlfriends
|
| They’re tryin' to marry someone rich
|
| They all hang around the sofa and say
|
| «Hey, ain’t love a bitch?»
|
| And mars is a planet
|
| Where she’ll find her man
|
| She’ll sail through the black hole
|
| Till it’s his arms she’s in
|
| With eyes like walnuts and cinnamon skin
|
| She won’t be living the life of a nun
|
| And that’s what she gets
|
| Well the sun pokes through blonde street
|
| And shines on the cracks
|
| On the walls and the heartaches
|
| And they never shine back
|
| Her memories don’t mean nothing
|
| So she throws them away
|
| Like that night in his bedroom
|
| When he looked just like
|
| A young Hemingway
|
| And she was the, «catch of the day»
|
| Now she’s walkin' down blonde street
|
| Where there’s so many places to hide
|
| She’s got a river of denial
|
| Of what’s locked up inside
|
| But she just wants to fly
|
| And she says
|
| «I wanna live on blonde street
|
| I wanna live on blonde street» |