103

Last days in LA, save me, baby, from

Strange times

You catch me cooking in the kitchen, looking in

To the fire

Lover, brother, baker, burning at the stake-er, stick with me

Under the last palm tree, and

Sip a little water from the dirty fountain meant to be

The sum of it all

Oh, oh, oh

Keep me on the tip of your tongue

Oh, oh, oh

It's 103 in the sun

You don't know what you got or what you want when LA's hot

It seems to make you so damn low

You don't know what you want or how to stop when LA's not

What you seen in me before

But I, I blame it on the sun

Yeah, I, I blame it on the sun

These nights we've been tearing are temporary, but

Spit shines

Surfing the current on an 80-proof serpent, your

Red eyes

Lover, brother, raider, hot rod-er, souped up to the nines

Sitting on blocks, and

Every elevator in the city says it's going up

When it's on the rocks, and

Oh, oh, oh

Keep me on the tip of your tongue

Oh, oh, oh

It's 103 in the sun

You don't know what you got or what you want when LA's hot

It seems to make you so damn slow

You don't know what you want or how to stop when LA's not

What you seen in me before

But I, I blame it on the sun

Yeah, I, I blame it on the sun

Yeah, I, I blame it on the sun

Yeah, I, I blame it on the sun