My Town

I am dank morning street corners
And the cadence of an all day drizzle
Sipping on whiskey shimmering rain
Once an earthy, astir bustling small bar
I’m now the Paxil popping parents
Laid up in million dollar suburban homes
A limping three stringed marionette
With one of its ashy torn frayed ropes
Dragging in vain awkwardly behind
I’m an erect middle finger to the puppeteer
In valleys full of folks sick of California
Doing their damnedest to make California here

I pride myself on my lush green forests
Then make a handsome king’s ransom
Cutting each and every one down
I create the demand, supply the supply
You can hear the bleeding sounds
of legalized heroin pulsing under my streets
One of my nick names is Track Town after all
I missed the memo that said sleeping outside
Wasn’t hip anymore and that flannels were done
After Cobain coaxed the explosive contents out
Of a nickel plated Remington 12 gauge shotgun
Rather than sell out, I’ve decided to develop away
Building condos pushing bourgeoise urban renewal
Killing my inner hippie is just business as usual