Tekster: Pretenders. Pack It Up.

You guys are the pits of the world

Oh oh oh oh, this is no place for me
Burnin' down the Innerbelt, from jacuzzi to jacuzzi, yeah
It's all right for you man, gettin' smashed, gettin' suntanned
But I know my place, where's my suitcase?

Pack it up or throw it away
What I can't carry, bury
Oh, you remember me and I remember you
But that was a long, long time ago when I was passin' through

All my family, all my friends, my lover
I got to find them
My enemies, my new family, my new friends
My future enemies, I got to flush them out

I'm packin' it all up, nothing goes in storage
I'm burnin' every bridge, burn, baby, burn
I see your dog got shot, well, hell, never mind
That's show biz, big boy, you've got to be cruel to be kind

Oh, oh, oh, oh, give over and admit it
I've been tearing down the interstate like some kind of bleeding cat
It's all right for the boss, his gain's my loss
That gets me down, it really gets me down

So pack it up and cut the crap
When the clock starts talkin', I'll start walkin'
Oh, when you pass in your Porsche please don't offer me a ride
I may be a skunk but you're a piece of junk

And furthermore I don't like your trousers, your appalling taste in women
And what about your mind? And your insipid record collection?
That dumb home video center, the usual pronography
And all you scumbags around the world, you're the pits of the world