I've seen your imagination high above the halfway station,
Always working, always making something for the pile.
Then you set it all on fire.
You can learn to make something real,
That comes from the heel of your life.
I'm still trying.
You don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Mama's boy's daddy is in the crack house again,
Watching car crash shows with the pipe in.
A pack of dull monkeys could write circles around,
That fourth grade, mumbly slang,
Stream of consciousness, jive that you call a song.
Is that going to be your story?
Child, you don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
You're never gonna change your mind,
Don't just rearrange the lies into a straighter line.
Not too many years ago there was hippies killing people,
A mile away from the Marlboro Ma.n
Now there's sandpaper pants on the gutter punks, And lowriders with their heads in the trunks or Walking in fours, and kicking in doors, cutting it up, and filling their cup.
You don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Said you don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Change the world.
Poor, poor LA.
Poor, poor LA.
Poor, poor LA.
Poor, Poor LA Video (MV)
Tim Easton - Poor, Poor LA Lyrics
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I've seen your imagination high above the halfway station,
Always working, always making something for the pile.
Then you set it all on fire.
You can learn to make something real,
That comes from the heel of your life.
I'm still trying.
You don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Mama's boy's daddy is in the crack house again,
Watching car crash shows with the pipe in.
A pack of dull monkeys could write circles around,
That fourth grade, mumbly slang,
Stream of consciousness, jive that you call a song.
Is that going to be your story?
Child, you don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
You're never gonna change your mind,
Don't just rearrange the lies into a straighter line.
Not too many years ago there was hippies killing people,
A mile away from the Marlboro Ma.n
Now there's sandpaper pants on the gutter punks, And lowriders with their heads in the trunks or Walking in fours, and kicking in doors, cutting it up, and filling their cup.
You don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Said you don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Change the world.
Poor, poor LA.
Poor, poor LA.
Poor, poor LA.
Always working, always making something for the pile.
Then you set it all on fire.
You can learn to make something real,
That comes from the heel of your life.
I'm still trying.
You don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Mama's boy's daddy is in the crack house again,
Watching car crash shows with the pipe in.
A pack of dull monkeys could write circles around,
That fourth grade, mumbly slang,
Stream of consciousness, jive that you call a song.
Is that going to be your story?
Child, you don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
You're never gonna change your mind,
Don't just rearrange the lies into a straighter line.
Not too many years ago there was hippies killing people,
A mile away from the Marlboro Ma.n
Now there's sandpaper pants on the gutter punks, And lowriders with their heads in the trunks or Walking in fours, and kicking in doors, cutting it up, and filling their cup.
You don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Said you don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Change the world.
Poor, poor LA.
Poor, poor LA.
Poor, poor LA.
Writer: TIMOTHY E EASTON
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC