Swingline throughout the backyards of the midwest lean back, baby, in your seat on the train look through the window pane Look at that kid over there with no underwear and a silly dog who doesn't care his mother stretches to reach the clothes line while a mean neighbor leans on the population sign Non-stop through the backyards of the midwest eavesdrop, baby, from your seat on the train look through the window pane Some kinda Buick left in a stream it used to be somebody's' dream a town stares at the summer heat waves past a smooth afternoon, ready to close for the day