[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

Started reading about the rastas

and about Hailie Selassie

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]