Lyrics

Back, please, back! My wife says I work too hard. She may be right; the days certainly are filled with [?] of a high-powered job- but I've got an escape hatch. I call it my Cadillac hour. It starts when I slide into my new Fleetwood Brougham and discover all over again just how accommodating my Cadillac really is! I was riding my bike Down the street dark at night When I look, and I saw There was a certain kind of light The warmth from the houses That were there, all around But in the city Man, it's killin' me My wife says I work too hard When I get up in the morning And go to sleep at night I try hard to convince myself That evеrything's alright When everything is tuckеd beneath the sheets And safe and warm and sound But the city Man, it's killin' me ...But I've got an escape hatch My brain acts like a ping-pong ball Too many choices is no choice at all No money, shifting gears [?] And I wanna have a place to call home My Cadillac hour! Too hard to stay low To smile and just be nice Where are the restaurants That serve tofu and rice? They've got big black cockroaches And lots of head lice Yeah, the city (I call it-) Man, it's killin' me (-My Cadillac hour) [?] I see nature a whole lot But lacking a car I think I'll just stay here and rot Can't make me enough money Must be some kinda plot In the city Man, it's killin' me (My Cadillac hour) And my brain acts like a ping-pong ball Too many choices is no choice at all Can't pay the bills for the stupid telephone And I wanna have a place to call home But I've got an escape hatch Need some separation From the city without walls [?] those walls are not important at all And how can I get out of here If I can't afford a car And the future looks [?] like black tar [?] seats, automatic climate control, the stereo AM/FM radio that seeks out soothing music, and it [?] the kind of smooth, relaxing ride that belongs to Cadillac And my brain acts like a ping-pong ball Too many choices is no choice at all Put your ears to the floor and hear the downstairs tenants moan Oh, I wanna have a place to call home (My private decompression chamber) Too much information Don't think I'm gonna vote If you don't [?] it go I'll shove a screwdriver into your throat You think I understand you But I tell you I don't 'Cause the city (My Cadillac hour) Man, it's killin' me (My private decompression chamber) When I get up in the morning And go to sleep at night I try hard to convince myself That everything's all right When everything is tucked beneath the sheets It's safe and warm and sound But the city (Put it all together) Man, it's killin' me -And Cadillac becomes my private decompression chamber. A magnificent way to ease out of the day and get into a [?]. My Cadillac hour- in many ways, it's the best time of my day ...I advise you to stand back, if they take a gun from somebody How many times are they gonna be able to duck, if every other fender bender turns into a shootout? That's not our town, it's not, we're so mellow it's pathetic! Would you believe [?]? Oh, shut up!