Out Of L.a.

This town's got to shake down to its roots I don't know if that's the sands or the tropical fruits I don't believe all the things I see But I'm still betting on you and me Chorus: Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. I met a girl who looked like a movie star She was going for a ride and I don't mean in a car Had a brain about the size of a frozen pea And on a scale of one to ten she was twenty-three A big fat man's gonna make me a king He's got a see-through tan and a pinky diamond ring Slicked-back hair shirt to his thigh Import silk slave labor dyed Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. Hey, hey baby, we've gotta go get out of L.A. Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. The boy whores sell their souls on the boulevard And that's a shirt-free store where they don't take a credit card From the hills to the chills its a quick fall down