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Behind the old red barn
and the towering pines
There's a dirt road winding where the wild ivy twines
No streetlamps glowing, no concrete in sight
Just a dusty trail under the canopy of night
Old man Miller
says they run this whole town
As soon as the bright golden sun goes down
Sorting through the scrap,
looking for a prize
With the bandit masks and the shiny black eyes
Down on raccoon lane,
where the wild ones play
They wash their little hands at the end of the day
Dancing on the fences,
tipping over cans Making big trouble with their tiny little hands
Oh, down on raccoon lane
They don't care about
the rich man's gold Just a half-eaten apple and a copper pipe
old They hold a little council on a wooden porch swing Squeaking
at the moon like they own everything
Down on raccoon lane,
where the wild ones play
They wash their little hands at the end of the day
Dancing on the fences,
tipping over cans Making big trouble with their tiny little hands Oh,
down on raccoon lane
Down on raccoon lane,
where the wild ones play
They wash their little hands at the end of the day
Dancing on the fences,
tipping over cans Making big trouble with their tiny little hands
Oh, down on raccoon lane
Yeah, those little bandits on the lane (squeaking sounds) Just making
trouble in the rain