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