Nashville - The Cats

Kids were born with banjo’s in they’re hands

Before they’re ten they learn the tricks, the picking and the slapping

And dream to be the leader of the band

Hundreds of them work they’re guts out lookin' for a rainbow

That never seems to visit village halls

The music calls and Nashville people never learn to say no

That’s why their strumming comes from subway walls

There’s no room at the top, for anyone for long

No room at the top, for any kind of song for long

L.A. seems to be the place where high keeps getting higher

Dope is found on supermarket racks, eight miles isn’t high enough for L.A.

's mess desire

Since the town abolished pleasure tax

Psycho music killed it self dying by the needle

And paved the way for folk rock in its place

The synthesizers couldn’t stay beside the country fiddle

It didn’t seem to want to win the race

There’s no room at the top, for anyone for long

No room at the top, for any kind of song for long

Well, you know, there is no room at the top not for anybody, any soul for long

No room at the top for any kind of song for long

No room at the top for anyone for long

No room at the top for any kind of song for long