Mangooooooooos
Mangomangomangomango
Frutas! Mangooosfruta!
Mangomangomangomango
The cool wind blows off of the deafening surf
Of Santa Monica — where daydreams reside.
That mystical place that soaks your hair
In California magic and salty sand.
The harshness of the sun is abrasive and crude
On the endless strand beneath the muddy bluff
Upon which the luckiest bums on earth reside.
Roach coaches abound on the boulevard.
Behind the refined facades that loom over the sea
Sprout ten thousand California bungalows
Packed tight and cosy along narrow car-parked roads
Cracks in the sidewalk house grassy forests.
There is something profoundly beautiful there
It’s a quality that I’ve extended to all of L.A.
Whether it deserves the extension or not.
What I wouldn’t give to stroll by the beach
...today.
Mangooooooooos
Mangomangomangomango
Frutas! Mangooosfruta!
Mangomangomangomango
