This town's got to shake down to its roots

I don't know if that's the sands or the tropical fruits

I don't believe all the things I see

But I'm still betting on you and me 



Chorus:

Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A.

Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. 



I met a girl who looked like a movie star

She was going for a ride and I don't mean in a car

Had a brain about the size of a frozen pea

And on a scale of one to ten she was twenty-three 



A big fat man's gonna make me a king

He's got a see-through tan and a pinky diamond ring

Slicked-back hair shirt to his thigh

Import silk slave labor dyed 



Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. 

Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. 

Hey, hey baby, we've gotta go get out of L.A. 

Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. 



The boy whores sell their souls on the boulevard

And that's a shirt-free store where they don't take a credit card

From the hills to the chills its a quick fall down

It's a great big city, it's a real small town 



Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. 

Hey, hey baby, we've gotta get out of L.A. 

Hey, hey baby, we've gotta go get out of L.A. 

Hey, hey baby, we've gotta go. . .