She’s ahead of the pack, she do what she feels.
Nobody tells her where to go, nobody says when to eat.
She don’t care for earthly things, but she’s got her Jimmy choes,
You don’t wanna be messin’ with her, when she’s got the Versace Blues.

She’ll smack your hand out off the way, when you’re at your chivalrous best. “I need no help” she’ll say, I’m perfectly fit,
Then she’ll insist on the attention she needs, She’ll stomp her feet if she don’t catch you fussing around, she the queen of the cove.

She can make or break you; she’s everything you want,
But my Baby she don’t…

Yeah, my downtown baby says she don’t wanna be loved.
She don’t wanna be loved.

She loves Bob Dylan and all the Beat nicks too,
Then she acts just like them, she don’t care about you,
She reads Nietzsche and thinks philosophy’s the Shit.
But she won’t side the Trotskyites when they start to quibble.

She’ll leave you bruised and beaten, say you ain’t being real,
Then she’ll sympathise with you, put you on a pedistrel.
The boys all love her, she says she’s putting them on.
And then she’ll blush from head to toe, if they’re coming on.

Everybody loves her, she’s everything they want,
But my Baby don’t…

Well, my downtown baby says she don’t wanna be loved.
She don’t wanna be loved.