Los Angeles, I’m Yours The Decemberists

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[Verse 1]
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

[Chorus 1]
Its streets and boulevards, orphans and oligarchs it hears
A plaintive melody, truncated symphony
An ocean's garbled vomit on the shore
Los Angeles, I'm yours

[Verse 2]
Oh ladies pleasant and demure, sallow-cheeked and sure
I can see your undies
And all the boys you drag about, an empty fallow fount
From Saturdays to Mondays

[Chorus 2]
You hill and valley crowd, hanging your trousers down at heel
This is the realest thing, as ancient choirs sing
A dozen blushing cherubs wheel above
Los Angeles, my love

[Verse 3]
Oh what a rush of ripe élan, languor on divans
Dalliant and dainty
But oh, the smell of burnt cocaine, the dolor and decay
It only makes me cranky