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Lyric provided by www.seekalyric.com |
There is a city by the sea A gentle company I don't suppose you want to? And as it tells its sorry tale In harrowing detail Its hollowness will haunt you Its streets and boulevards, Orphans, and oligarchs And here's a plaintive melody A truncated symphony. An ocean's garbled vomit on the shore: Los Angeles, I'm yours. O ladies, pleasant and demure Sallow cheek'd and sure (I can see your undies) And all the boys you drag about An empty, fallow found From Saturdays to Mondays. You hill and valley crowd Hanging your trousers down at heel. This is the realest thing As anchient choirs sing A dozen blushing cherubs squeal above Los Angeles, my love O, what a rush of ripe elan! Languor on divans Dalliance and dainty! But oh the smell of burnt cocaine, The dollar and decay It only makes me cranky. O, great calamity Dish of inequity and tears How I abhor this place! Its sweet and bitter taste Has left me wreched, retching on all fours Los Angeles, I'm yours. Los Angeles, I'm yours. Los Angeles, I'm yours. |