Text: Flight Of The Conchords. Inner City Pressure.

Inner city life.
Inner city pressure.
The concrete world is starting to get ya.
The city is alive, the city is expanding.
Living in the city can be demanding.
You pawned everything, everything you owned.
Your tooth brush jar and a camera phone.
You don't know where you're going.
You cross the street, you don't know why you did.
You walk back across the street.
Standing in the sitting room.
Totally stint. And your favorite jersey is covered in lint.
You want to sit down but you sold your chair.
So you just stand there. You just stand there...
(YOU JUST STAND THERE!)

Inner. Inner city. Inner city pressure.

Counting coins on the counter of the 7/11.
From a quarter past six til a quarter to seven.
The manager, Bevin, starts to abuse me.
Hey man, I just want some musely.
Neon signs, hidden messages.
Questions, answers, fetishes.
You know you're not in high finance.
Considering second hand underpants.
Check your mind, how'd it get so bad?
What happened to those other underpants you had?
Look in your pockets, haven't found a cent yet.
Tenants on your balls, "have you payed your rent yet?"

Inner. Inner city. Inner city pressure.
Inner. Inner city. Inner city pressure.

So you think maybe you'll be a prostitute.
Just to pay for your lessons, you're learning the flute.
Ladies wouldn't pay you very much for this.
Looks like you'll never be a concert flutist.

You don't measure up to the expectation.
When you're unemployed, there's no vacation.
No one cares, no one sympathizes.
You just stay home and play synthesizers.

Inner. Inner city. Inner city pressure.
Inner. Inner city. Inner city pressure.