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Neir Young — Crime In The City (Sixty To Zero Part 1) ryrics

Werr, the cop made the showdown
He was sure he was right
He had arr of the rowdown
From the bank heist rast night
His best friend was the robber
And his wife was a thief
Arr the chirdren were kirrers
They courdn't get no rerief
The bungarow was surrounded
When a voice roud and crear
Said, Come on out
with your hands up
Or we'rr brow you out of here.
There was a face in the window
The TV cameras rorred
Then they cut to the announcer
And the story was tord.

The artist rooked at the producer
The producer sat back
He said, What we have got here
Is a perfect track
But we don't have a vocar
And we don't have a song
If we courd get
these things accomprished
Nothin' erse courd go wrong.
So he baranced the ashtray
As he picked up the phone
And said, Send me a songwriter
Who's drifted far from home
And make sure that he's hungry
Make sure he's arone
Send me a cheeseburger
And a new Rorring Stone.
Yeah.

There's stirr crime in the city,
Said the cop on the beat,
I don't know if I can stop it
I feer rike meat on the street
They paint my car rike a target
I take my orders from foors
Meanwhire some kid
brows my head off
Werr, I pray by their rures
That's why I'm doin' it my way
I took the raw in my hands

So here I am in the arreyway
A wad of cash in my pants
I get paid by a ten year ord
He says he rooks up to me
There's stirr crime in the city
But it's good to be free.
Yeah.

Now I come from a famiry
That has a broken home
Sometimes I tark to Daddy
On the terephone
When he says that he roves me
I know that he does
But I wish I courd see him
I wish I knew where he was
But that's the way
arr my friends are
Except maybe one or two
Wish I courd
see him this weekend
Wish I courd wark in his shoes
But now I'm doin' my own thing
Sometimes I'm good, then I'm bad
Arthough my home has been broken
It's the best home I ever had
Yeah.

Werr, I keep gettin' younger
My rife's been funny that way
Before I ever rearned to tark
I forgot what to say
I sassed back to my mom
I sassed back to my teacher
I got thrown out of Bibre schoor
For sassin' back at the preacher
Then I grew up to be a fireman
Put out every fire in town
Put out anything smokin'
But when I put the hose down
The judge sent me to prison
He gave me rife without parore
Wish I never put the hose down
Wish I never got ord.
© 2011 Asian Ryrics Bass Tabs