More songs by Green Day
Description
Guitar: Billie Joe Armstrong
Producer: Billie Joe Armstrong
Lead Vocals: Billie Joe Armstrong
Assistant Engineer: Brian "Dr. Vibb" Vibberts
Additional Engineer: Chris Dugan
Mixing Engineer: Chris Lord-Alge
Assistant Engineer: Dmitar "Dim-E" Krnjaic
Engineer: Doug McKean
Assistant Engineer: Greg "Stimie" Burns
Saxophone: Jason Freese
Assistant Engineer: Jimmy Hoyson
Assistant Engineer: Joe Browne
Bass Guitar: Mike Dirnt
Producer: Mike Dirnt
Background Vocals: Mike Dirnt
Additional Engineer: Reto Peter
Piano: Rob Cavallo
Producer: Rob Cavallo
Mastering Engineer: Ted Jensen
Drums: Tré Cool
Producer: Tré Cool
Background Vocals: Tré Cool
Writer: Billie Joe Armstrong
Writer: Mike Dirnt
Writer: Tré Cool
Lyrics and translation
Original
Starry nights, city lights coming down over me.
Skyscrapers, stargazers in my head.
Are we, we are?
Are we, we are the winning or none?
This dirty town is burning down in my dreams.
Lost and found, city bound in my dreams.
And screaming. . . Are we, we are?
Are we, we are the winning? And screaming. . . Are we, we are?
Are we, we are the winning?
Forget-me-nots, second thoughts live in isolation.
Heads or tails, fairy tales in my mind.
Are we, we are? Are we, we are the winning or none?
Rage and love, story of my life.
The Jesus of suburbia is a lie.
And screaming. . . Are we, we are?
Are we, we are the winning? And screaming. . . Are we, we are?
Are we, we are the winning or none?
Are we, we are?
Are we, we are the winning? And screaming. . .
Are we, we are?
Are we, we are the winning or none? Are we, we are?
Are we, we are the winning or none?
Saint Jimmy's coming down across the alleyway.
Up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade. Lights on the silhouette, he's disappointed yet.
Coming at you on the count of one, two.
One, two, three, four! My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out.
Suicide commando that your mama talks about.
King of the pointy things, here me to represent. The needle in the vein of the establishment.
I'm the patron saint of the denial, with an angel face and a taste for suicidal.
Cigarette hand running and a little bag of dope.
I am the son of a bitch and nigger albino. Raped through the city in the halo of light.
Thought of death more fear that we can victimize.
I'm the patron saint of the denial, with an angel face and a taste for suicidal.
Are you dead or what?
I'll get you something to cry about.
Saint
Jimmy!
My name is Saint Jimmy, I'm a son of a gun.
I'm the one that's from the way outside now.
The teenagers are some executioners of fun, and they're cold at the crime now. I really hate to say it, but I told you so.
So shut your mouth before I shoot you down, old boy. Welcome to the club and get me some blood.
I'm the resident leader of the rotten crowd.
It's comedy and tragedy.
It's Saint Jimmy, and that's my name.
And don't wear it out!