United States Of Summer
Summer is just a state of mind
So I hope that you won’t mind if I state
That Fall and Winter are coming soon
To a city and state near you.
As California goes, so goes the world,
And at present we’re going right down the drain.
California here I come(or bust),
But now those words are sounding dumb
As those remaining fight for crumbs
After the Gold Rush.
Things were really looking Gray,
Feeling blue, seeing red, turning green,
Especially for those who see things white and black
Until the swarthy Terminator came back,
Made his movie moves on Kalifornia Kreamin’ Kweens.
Now the Serpent’s Egg has already hatched;
Some say, “If it’s Brown, flush it down.”
But not in my town.
A lot of dreams were born and died in the 60’s
Along with Camelot and the dead Kennedys.
Frisch, Froehlich, und Frei weht der Sommerwind.
Wo weilest Du, mein Irisch Kind?
Across the Land of Wasted Opportunities—
Kalifornia ueberalles, and arbeit macht frei.
And then we all die.
All through that endless summer at ease we’d play
Beside that tragic magic castle kingdom by the bay.
Beach Boys and California Girls spent it grooving in the sand,
Racing the little old lady from Pasadena to Catalina
And California Dreamin’ is becoming surreality.
Democrocash will crash
As three coyotes and a sheeple
Vote on what’s for dinner.
The Golden State is tarnished, the
Hotel California is Jerry built,
But we all had fun fun fun
Until the Repo man took the T-Bill-Bird away
And made the LA Woman pay.
Don’t diss dis Union of dysunion
Dying a slow death from quantitative diseasing.
There’s a storm front moving in across the Great Divide,
A seismic shift, an earthquake, tsunami, tornado Katrina,
And you don’t need a weatherman to know
What’s blowing in the wind.
To everything there is a season,
Time for someone else to have a turn.
Because I do not care to hope to turn again,
Teach us how to steal.
Summer’s almost gone, the Doors are closing,
Winter is icumen in— gotchur Pound of flesh?
Hope Springs eternal in the treasure chest.
The party’s over, long live the Party!
Meat, the New Boss…
Turn, turn, turn, Turnvater Jahn…
Burn, baby, burn!