Leaving LA (Live at Trackdown Studio)

Check the locks and leave the keys

Mouldy bath masked with Febreze

Something's dead behind the refrigerator

Some poor fuck will deal with it later

I've spent the last ten weeks

Squeezing out the sponge of friendships, plugging leaks

I've talked until there's no more to say

I'm going away

I'm leaving LA

I'm leaving LA

And the tourists say

"Please give me the directions to the Hollywood sign

I always dreamt of coming here to see the Hollywood sign"

But on their way back down we'll ask

"Did you have a good time?"

They'll say "it's just some fuckin' letters on a hill"

I wander through the Bronson Caves

One more OK coffee at the Oaks Gourmet

I'll watch the players at the UCB

Trying to improvise their way out of ennui

Walking trails in the creeping dark

Up to the observatory in Griffith Park

There's too much light for stars anyway

I'm getting out of this place

I'm leaving LA

I'm leaving LA

And the studio executives who never made a thing

Blaming others for their failures, taking credit for their wins

Wiping the blood of dumb artists from their chins

Singing, "kid you oughtn't take it personally"

On Hollywood and Vine a dime-store Spider-Man

Shouting at a stoned Emma Stone, dressed à la La La Land

And in the distance, in both its glorious dimensions

The sign projects its shadow on the hill

Rushing by machine-gunned cops at LAX

Malfunctioning departure board says we're boarding next

Belt off, shoes off, jacket off, hat

Don't need the attitude, but I quite enjoy the subsequent pat-down

And I'm sat down

As the A380 engine roars

Pushed backwards as this tube of monkeys rumbles forwards

I'm looking forward to another twenty hours on a plane

Nothing but shit films and my brain

I've been going slowly insane

I've seen your sport and I don't wanna play

I'm getting out of this place

I'm getting out of this place

I'm leaving LA

And the actors at Gratitude drinking undrinkable juice

And the agents taking ten percent in their sneakers and suits

And the writers in their Teslas trying to punch up Act One

Driving home on the 101 in the relentless fucking sun

And the needy and the greedy and the homeless and horny

And the deals done on treadmills at ten to six in the morning

And the Captain's on the PA saying "look for the sign!"

But I find it's just some fuckin' letters on a hill

Just some really ugly letters

On a pretty ugly hill

I'm leaving LA

I'm leaving 'ell