From The Recordings Html
From the Pru to the lines of green and blue, God save "Eastie"; that's the place that you can hop a Boeing 747 and get yourself away from here. Because little leprechauns, they kick me in the shins. Man filled swamp and said "This is where America begins!" No joy in Red Sox nation. Time I got away from here. I'm flying far away from here. Bye bye Boston, you're not worth the rent you're costing, no love lost for downtown Boston. It's a dream flying high over the scene, looking down I swear I've never seen so many rude, unhappy, tiny people. Time I got away from here. So honk your horns 'til your cars are in a pile, make big bucks then spend 'em like their going out of style. So cool, so smart, so special. Time I got away from here. Oh but I, I will pray, that your dirty waters rise up, flood you. What's with all these dirty looks in my direction wagons westbound, bye bye Boston. Grabbing hold, of the reigns, I've tucked beneath my arms the few remains of my midwestern charm. Newton mommies with their pearls, Berkeley freshmen rule their worlds as Johnny Mayer wannabe's.