103 (Non - Electric)

Last days in LA, save me baby From strange times You catch me cooking in the kitchen, looking Into the fire Lover brother baker burning at the stake-er, stick with me Under the last palm tree And sip a little water from the dirty fountain meant to be The sum of it all Oh, oh, oh Keep me on the tip of your tongue Oh, oh, oh It's 1-0-3 in the sun You don't know what you got Or what you want when LA's hot It seems to make you so damn low You don't know what you want Or how to stop when LA's not What you seen in me before But I, I blame it on the sun Yeah I, I blame it on the sun These nights we've been tearing are temporary But spit shines Surfing the current on an eighty-proof serpent Your red eyes Lover brother raider hot rod-er souped up to the nines Sitting on blocks And every elevator in the city says it's going up When it's on the rocks and Oh, oh, oh Keep me on the tip of your tongue Oh, oh, oh It's 1-0-3 in the sun You don't know what you got Or what you want when LA's hot It seems to make you so damn slow You don't know what you want Or how to stop when LA's not What you seen in me before But I, I blame it on the sun Yeah I, I blame it on the sun Yeah I, I blame it on the sun Yeah I, I blame it on the sun