Out Of L.A.

This towns got to shake down to its roots I dont know if thats the sands or the tropical fruits I dont believe all the things I see But Im still betting on you and me Chorus: Hey, hey baby, weve gotta get out of l.a. Hey, hey baby, weve gotta get out of l.a. I met a girl who looked like a movie star She was going for a ride and I dont 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 mans gonna make me a king Hes 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, weve gotta get out of l.a. Hey, hey baby, weve gotta get out of l.a. Hey, hey baby, weve gotta go get out of l.a. Hey, hey baby, weve gotta get out of l.a. The boy whores sell their souls on the boulevard And thats a shirt-free store where they dont take a credit card From the hills to the chills its a quick fall down Its a great big city, its a real small town Hey, hey baby, weve gotta get out of l.a. Hey, hey baby, weve gotta get out of l.a. Hey, hey baby, weve gotta go get out of l.a. Hey, hey baby, weve gotta go. . .