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The Whitlams - You Gotta Love This City lyrics
You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city Too sick for breakfast, the car wouldn't start The train was really full, and his girlfriend had a boyfriend The houses all the same, now here's the rain Not falling but collapsing at his feet Deep breath and he clocks on, raincoat on his arm He wishes the hours would disappear But the trip's in vain 'cause awaiting him A lay-off notice and his severance pay He shuffles back to the train again You gotta love this city You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city Back home he lies in bed for days and days Watching American television, smoking And playing with himself ringing double-O double-5 Into town on Thursday night The girls are pretty and the lights are bright At least he loves his city Holding court on Taylor Square proper was the man he could become Lear's Fool is a bum now With seven holy parcels by his side You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city He walks along the foreshore, he's got a bottle And he's breathing with his city It was busy everywhere he went There was a crowd over the bay And a fireworks display It's all very strange for a Thursday night thought he Then it dawns on him as a cracker explodes And who the hell is he going to blame? It dawns on him - the horror - we got the Olympic Games You gotta love this city for its body and not its brain And he screams "My city is a whore, opened herself to the world Jumped up and down in pastel shirts And lathered up thinking about designs for T-shirts" You gotta love this city for its body and not its brain It's more than he can take, and the stars' reflection breaks 'Cause you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it enjoy the view You gotta love this city He's had enough and he sinks to the bottom Words and music by Tim Freedman Produced by Rob Taylor and Tim Freedman Mixed and engineered by Rob Taylor Vocal, Rhodes electric piano - Tim Freedman Backing vocals - Marcia Hines Hammond organ - Clayton Doley Guitar - Mark Punch Flute, congas, tabla - Babs Marimba - Jess Ciampa Bass - Jackie Orszaczky Drums, bells - Hamish Stuart |
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