She was born in November 1963
 The day Aldous Huxley died
 And her mama believed
 That every man could be free
 So her mama got high, high, high
 And her daddy marched on Birmingham
 Singing mighty protest songs
 And he pictured all the places
 That he knew that she belonged
 But he failed and taught her young
 The only thing she's need to carry on
 He taught her how to
 [bad word] baby run [bad word] baby run
 [bad word] 
 Past the arms of the familiar
 And their talk of better days
 To [bad word] of the strangers
 Slipping out before they say
 so long
 Baby loves [bad word] 
 She counts out all her money
 In the taxi on the way to meet her plane
 Stares hopeful out the window
 At the workers fighting
 Through the pouring rain
 She's searching through the stations
 For an unfamiliar song
 And she's pictures all the places
 Where she knows she still belongs
 And she smiles the secret smile
 Because she knows exactly how
 To carry on

 [bad word] baby run [bad word] baby run
 [bad word] 
 From the old familiar faces and
 Their old familiar ways
 To [bad word] of the strangers
 Slipping out before they say
 So long
 Baby loves [bad word]