Michael sits in a tired old coffee shop, a copy of Proust pressed to his nose
He’s got a lot on his mind but his posture is so composed
Moving day is three days away and his parents are coming up from Bombay
He hasn’t found a job so he knows what they’ll say, but it doesn’t matter anyway
‘Cause he’s getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn in three days. Yeah he’s getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn… and moving to Queens

Sharon cries in the back of a cab
It’s so hard to find a good guy in this town
She lost her wallet in the back of Barcade, but that’s how these kind of nights go down
Her roommate still won’t pay the rent, and her landlord’s paper-thin patience is spent
She can’t believe she’s paying fifteen hundred dollars for a tiny flex one-bedroom apartment
She’s getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn someday
Yeah she’s getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn… and moving to New Jersey

Mister Ballard’s been a super for ten years in the projects of Bedford Stuy
He’s always there when you need a fix; yeah, he’s a real swell guy
But he’s so tired of the high city taxes and the violence and the hipsters and the goddamn city cops
So he’s packing up his bags and he’s buying a truck and he’s flipping off the skyline as it disappears into the fog
And he’s getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn ‘cause he’s had enough. Yeah he’s getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn… and going to Florida!

Yeah we’re getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn today. We’re getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn, getting out of Brooklyn… but we’ll be back someday.