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There is a city by the sea, a gentle company |
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I don't suppose you want to |
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And as it tells its sorry tale in harrowing detail |
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Its hollowness will haunt you |
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It streets and boulevards, orphans and oligarchs are here |
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A plaintive melody, truncated symphony |
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An ocean's garbled vomit on the shore |
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Los Angeles, |
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I'm yoursOld ladies pleasant and demure, sallow cheeked and sure |
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I can see your undies |
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And all the boys you drag about an empty fellow found |
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From Saturdays to |
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MondaysYou hill and valley crowd, hanging your trousers down at here |
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This is the realest thing, as ancient choirs sing |
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A dozen blushing cherubs wheel about |
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Los Angeles, my love |
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Oh, what a rush of ripe elan, languor on divans |
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Dallyiant and dainty |
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But oh, the smell of burnt cocaine, the dollor and decay |
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It only makes me cranky |
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A great calamity, ditch of inequity it's here |
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How I abhor this place, its sweet and bitter taste |
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Has left me wretched retching on all fours |
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Los Angeles, |
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I'm yoursLos |
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Angeles, I'm yours |
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Los Angeles, |
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I'm yours |