[Jello Biafra:] This is for all you people who like to get away with passing joints around in the front row of the Old Waldorf. What would Heavy Metal magazine think? This is called Dreadlocks of the Suburbs.
Why don't you come to my room
Had enough of being fucked by business
Ain't enough to fund my habits
Looks like alcohol so grab it
Had enough of being uncool
Loosen up like all the folks do
Like a lumberjack in my eyes
Have a bottle or two tonight
And oh, oh, be a dreadlock of the suburbs
And oh, oh, be a dreadlock of the suburbs
Some peyote and ferascas
And a new Havana philosophy
I don't know too much about him
He knows how to make it never-ending
With a stash that's supremo
He's got any colors going
I took out an ad in High Times
Got to keep up with the new world
Because oh, oh, I'm a dreadlock of the suburbs
And oh, oh, I'm a dreadlock of the suburbs
And oh, oh, I'm a dreadlock of the suburbs
Because oh, oh, I'm a Rastafarian
Forget your social status
Listen up misfit
We can be so high
Where you can't say a word
Because we're so cool, we're someone
Okay, there it is, listen up
Looking through all my pictures
Especially in the South
Got a stake in the promised land
Until my Daddy strikes the gold
And oh, oh, be a dreadlock of the suburbs
And oh, oh, be a dreadlock of the suburbs
And oh, oh, time for the dreadlocks of the suburbs
'Cause oh, oh, I want to hold you right now
The more things change, the more they stay the same [x4]