Lyrics:

Same old boring Sunday morning
Old man's out washing the car
Mum's in the kitchen cooking Sunday dinner
Her best meal, moaning while it lasts
Johnny's upstairs in his bedroom sitting in the dark
Annoying the neighbours with his punk rock electric guitar
This is the sound (This is the sound of the suburbs)
(This is the sound of the suburbs)
Every lousy Monday morning, Heathrow jets go crashing over our home
Ten o'clock Broadmoor siren, driving me mad, won't leave me alone
The woman next door just sits and stares outside
She hasn't come out once ever since her husband died
This is the sound (This is the sound of the suburbs)
(This is the sound of the suburbs)
Youth Club group used to wanna be free
Now they want Anarchy
They play too fast, they play out of tune
Practice in the singer's bedroom
Drum's quite good, the bass is too loud
And I can't hear the words
This is the sound (This is the sound of the suburbs)
(This is the sound of the suburbs)

Saturday morning family shoppers crowding out the center of town
Young blokes sitting on the benches, shoutin' at the young girls walking around
Johnny stands there at his window lookin' at the night
I said, 'Hey, what you listening to? There's nothing there' (That's right!)
(This is the sound of the suburbs)
(This is the sound of the suburbs)
This is the sound
This is the sound
This is the sound
This is the sound
This is the sound
This is the sound
This is the sound
This is the sounnnnd
This is the sound of the suburbs (Carry you home)
This is the sound of the suburbs (Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah)
This is the sound of the suburbs (The one that I want)
This is the sound of the suburbs