Ella’s in the Band The Fratellis

Baby's in the kitchen on a big black trombone
I'm in the bedroom on the cursed phone
Everybody laughs when the band goes too slow
Meeting every Tuesday in a club in Soho
I'm just dreaming of Rockefeller Plaza

Paul's on the ball with the bedroom plaything
Wishing he could give her a damn good thrashing
Everybody cries, "Well good for you, Paul
We never liked her very much at all"
I'm just dreaming of Rockefeller Plaza

I'm just waiting on magic shoes
Got three weird chords and I just can't lose
I'm just finding my own way there
Well I lost my voice and I grew my hair

Brother Jon's long gone, he keeps his nose clean
He's suckin on a black and white TV screen
Says he got a girl and a playbook memory
Pictures on the wall and a dog named Henry
I'm just dreaming of Rockefeller Plaza

Ella's in the band, but she's always solo
Dressed in rags and covered in day-glow
Banging on the drums like a Meg White throwback
Screaming all the while at her husband, poor Jack
I'm just dreaming of Rockefeller Plaza