Run from the city. (From the city)
From the city to run,
Far from, the fuckin city. (The fuckin’ city)
With the city life I am done.
I got an itchin’ to run.
I remember when the city first called my name.
I went down there with a ten yard stare, never to be the same.
A bush whacking, babyface boy from the Barmah forest,
Looking for the rock and roll life.
Formed a little band, sometimes got out of hand, though we never got in too much strife.
Continued living life and the city I did love but the years flew by like the wind and on all the concrete, I got itchy feet, now it’s time to get out again.
I got an itchin’ to run...
from the city. (from the city)
From the city to run,
Far from, the fuckin city. (The fuckin’ city)
And what the city life has become.
I’ll live in a cabin, yeah I’ll pack up the wagon,
drive off into the sun. (into the sun)
Far from, (the fuckin city) the fuckin’city (the fuckin’ city)
With the city life I am done,
I got an itchin’ to run.
Many people have come and many people have gone.
The city chews them up and spits them out to fertilise the lawn
but the lawns are artificial, certified synthetic turf,
so the peoples’ remains end up eaten by the birds.
The birds there are all pigeons and they’re city dwellers too,
so the peoples remains end up churned into the poo
That decorate the buildings and the bridges around town,
Where the people remain, never to get out.
Now I’m hangin horizontal from a street sign as the years they quickly incline.
The winds of time they try to blow me away,
and I’m thinking as I’m screaming, to escape this nightmare dreaming,
I oughta move back to the country one day.
We could find a little block that looks the same as the lot and be boxed in without a view.
We could live out our days in a suburban maze but the thought’s enough to make me spew.
Ah, take me back home where the wombats roam and the owls stay up hunting all night.
I’d rather lose sleep from a hoot and a peep than the neighbours having a fight.
I got an itchin’ to run…
from the city. (from the city)
From the city to run,
Far from, the fuckin city. (The fuckin’ city)
And what the city life has become.
I’ll live in a cabin, yeah I’ll pack up the wagon,
Drive off into the sun. (into the sun)
Far from, (the fuckin city) the fuckin’city (the fuckin’ city)
With the city life I am done,
I got an itchin’ to run.
I’m leaving and this time it’s true.
Pack some boxes and clear the shed.
An old Victa and a timber bed. Yes I’m leaving,
And this much is true,
From the city life I have fled, country sunsets and a nice clear head.
Yes I’m leaving and this time it’s true.
Pack some boxes and clear the shed.
An old Victa and a timber bed. Yes I’m leaving,
And this much is true,
From the city life I have fled, country sunsets and a nice clear head.
There comes a time, when it’s just not good for your soul.
Working each day, just to live like a fish in a bowl
And maybe now that time has come.
But it’s not goodbye forever no, no.
I can come and visit you, you can come and visit too.
Come and spend some time with me and wake up in the country.
Really got an itchin’ to run
From the city to run,
Far from, the fuckin city. (The fuckin’ city)
And what the city life has become.
I’ll live in a cabin, yeah I’ll pack up the wagon,
Drive off into the sun. (into the sun)
Far from, (the fuckin city) the fuckin’city (the fuckin’ city)
With the city life I am done.
credits
released September 7, 2022
Music and lyrics written by Watty Thompson
Produced by Aaron Dobos and Watty Thompson
Recorded and mixed by Aaron Dobos
Mastered by Joe Carra at Crystal Mastering
Strings written and arranged by Lucy Rash
Guitars and vocals: Watty Thompson
Drums and percussion: Izzy Adjei
Bass guitar: Tom Hulse
Pedal steel guitar: Steve Veale
Lead guitar: Sam Montague
Cello: Lucy Waldron
Violin: Lucy Rash
Violin: Ella Summers
Backing vocals: Amy Dowd, Nitida Atkinson, Fenn Wilson, Michael Stowers and Izzy Adjei