Maine Birthday In Los Angeles
Oh L.A. pick up the phone
I need to talk to you
Stop sleeping with my new friends,
And all the old ones too
Remember when we met, I thought you thought I was boring
You called me on the phone, to arrange my birthday party
Well this anger
I don't drive a fancy car
Those flashing lights don't mean a thing to me
Goodbye L.A.
You showed me around the house
You took me by the wrist
You introduced me to your pals, the scientologists
We cut the cake inside,
Then I tried to fake a smile
And I drank, and drank, and drank, cause I felt so out of style
You sang my birthday á¹—arty
Oh it's show
Yeah this is something, it just isn't me
So long L.A.
Well I do miss all you brought
The joy, the haze, the stay
I'm sure you'll feel it to
But soon enough you'll miss me
but I ain't got so much money
Nobody knows my name, but here is something I just have to say
F*ck you L.A.
