May 2013
In Orange County
In Orange County, Californiyay,
When you arrive at John Wayne Airport,
No need to show driver license or passport,
But be prepared for inspection to gain entry.
Are your teeth white enough to light the roads?
Is your navel hairless and clean enough to be licked?
Do you have two tats, if not, get going back
to whatever!
If your not blonde, produce pictures of your parents,
In any event, law demands, go directly to the colorist!
At the John Wayne Airport,
Religion is everywhere,
Who says God is illegal
In the great state of California-yay?
A flimsy dress, no room to guess,
Sashays slowly before the lines of the waiting,
If you are a believer, all is revealed,
A thong is the path to the Promised Land,
All you do is silent pray, Good God,
Mine eyes have seen the coming of The Lord!
A middle aged woman with many large bags
Dances a pas de deux with the luggage carousel,
Wrestling those black devils to the ground,
Her less than flat physique is displayed,
All you do is silent pray, Good God,
Please tell me she is pregnant!
Everybody smiles and says hello, so friendly,
But having mastered the technique of doing so
While looking over and past you, rest assured,
Your New York sensibilities of ignoring the movie star
Sitting next to you on the subway feels like the ultimate,
True cool.
In this place the sun never sets, which is why the citizens
Have sunglasses surgically attached to their heads.
Have not seen a big nose 'cept mine
Being looked down on from people who by law
Must be a minimum of six feet tall.
Need my gritty, need my cabbies giving me the finger,
Need the senior citizens fighting tooth and elbow for anything on sale,
Need my rivers, need to bleed orange and blue,
Need my ballet, my museums, my rude compatriots,
Who rush to your side when you sidewalk stumble,
Who never judge a book by its cover,
Cause the **** next to you is likely the author.
Who open their pockets and hearts to every needy person,
Hand extended, give 'em a buck, genuinely wish 'em God Bless,
They who let us share the fabric, woof and weave of our
City streets, their homes...
I got beach, I got mountains,
So maybe they're not visible from my living room,
But I got more living in the hearts of my fellow Yorkers,
Than there are grains of sands on the beaches of
Orange County.
In Orange County, Californiyay,
When you arrive at John Wayne Airport,
No need to show driver license or passport,
But be prepared for inspection to gain entry.
Are your teeth white enough to light the roads?
Is your navel hairless and clean enough to be licked?
Do you have two tats, if not, get going back
to whatever!
If your not blonde, produce pictures of your parents,
In any event, law demands, go directly to the colorist!
At the John Wayne Airport,
Religion is everywhere,
Who says God is illegal
In the great state of California-yay?
A flimsy dress, no room to guess,
Sashays slowly before the lines of the waiting,
If you are a believer, all is revealed,
A thong is the path to the Promised Land,
All you do is silent pray, Good God,
Mine eyes have seen the coming of The Lord!
A middle aged woman with many large bags
Dances a pas de deux with the luggage carousel,
Wrestling those black devils to the ground,
Her less than flat physique is displayed,
All you do is silent pray, Good God,
Please tell me she is pregnant!
Everybody smiles and says hello, so friendly,
But having mastered the technique of doing so
While looking over and past you, rest assured,
Your New York sensibilities of ignoring the movie star
Sitting next to you on the subway feels like the ultimate,
True cool.
In this place the sun never sets, which is why the citizens
Have sunglasses surgically attached to their heads.
Have not seen a big nose 'cept mine
Being looked down on from people who by law
Must be a minimum of six feet tall.
Need my gritty, need my cabbies giving me the finger,
Need the senior citizens fighting tooth and elbow for anything on sale,
Need my rivers, need to bleed orange and blue,
Need my ballet, my museums, my rude compatriots,
Who rush to your side when you sidewalk stumble,
Who never judge a book by its cover,
Cause the **** next to you is likely the author.
Who open their pockets and hearts to every needy person,
Hand extended, give 'em a buck, genuinely wish 'em God Bless,
They who let us share the fabric, woof and weave of our
City streets, their homes...
I got beach, I got mountains,
So maybe they're not visible from my living room,
But I got more living in the hearts of my fellow Yorkers,
Than there are grains of sands on the beaches of
Orange County.
