| Lyrics: | Well we're all packed up and we're Iroquois bound,
tuning our ears for the F.M. sound.
We
got a million problems, we're on our way,
44th, New York, U.S.A.
That big crazy city
don't blink an eye,
anytime we pass by.
It just keeps strechting up so high,
like a
rocket, shooting, to the sky.
Iroquois ! Iroquois !
Special Branch got their feelers
out,
our names and addresses 'cos we're in doubt.
Down the corridor, keep in lane,
find
the worst seats on the plane.
Find a tacky statue three inches high,
dirty rain falls
from a dirty sky.
On the corner of the street there's a big black fella' ..
trying to sell
me an umberalla.
Get the Kraut boys round for a smoke an' a beer,
there's gotta be a
pizza delivery near.
Call the barf patrol, there's a stain on the floor,
a weeks P.D's for
the bathroom floor. |
