THE WHITLAMS - YOU GOTTA LOVE THIS CITY lyrics

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You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city

You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city

Too sick for breakfast, the car wouldn't start

The train was really full, and his girlfriend had a boyfriend

The houses all the same, now here's the rain

Not falling but collapsing at his feet

Deep breath and he clocks on, raincoat on his arm

He wishes the hours would disappear

But the trip's in vain 'cause awaiting him

A lay-off notice and his severance pay

He shuffles back to the train again

You gotta love this city

You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city

You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city

Back home he lies in bed for days and days

Watching American television, smoking

And playing with himself ringing double-O double-5

Into town on Thursday night

The girls are pretty and the lights are bright

At least he loves his city

Holding court on Taylor Square proper was the man he could become

Lear's Fool is a bum now

With seven holy parcels by his side

You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city

You gotta love this city, love this city, you gotta love this city

He walks along the foreshore, he's got a bottle

And he's breathing with his city

It was busy everywhere he went

There was a crowd over the bay

And a fireworks display

It's all very strange for a Thursday night thought he

Then it dawns on him as a cracker explodes

And who the hell is he going to blame?

It dawns on him - the horror - we got the Olympic Games

You gotta love this city for its body and not its brain

And he screams "My city is a whore, opened herself to the world

Jumped up and down in pastel shirts

And lathered up thinking about designs for T-shirts"

You gotta love this city for its body and not its brain

It's more than he can take, and the stars' reflection breaks

'Cause you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it enjoy the view

You gotta love this city

He's had enough and he sinks to the bottom

Words and music by Tim Freedman

Produced by Rob Taylor and Tim Freedman

Mixed and engineered by Rob Taylor

Vocal, Rhodes electric piano - Tim Freedman

Backing vocals - Marcia Hines

Hammond organ - Clayton Doley

Guitar - Mark Punch

Flute, congas, tabla - Babs

Marimba - Jess Ciampa

Bass - Jackie Orszaczky

Drums, bells - Hamish Stuart