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 store 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 want to be free, Now they want anarchy, They play too fast, they play out of tune, They practise in the singers bedroom, The drums quite good the bass is too loud, And I… can’t hear the words.