Standard (EADGBE)
There is a city by the sea, a gentle com - pa - ny,
I don't suppose you want to
And as it tells its sorry tale, in harrowing detail
Its hollowness will haunt you
Its streets and boulevards, orphans and oligarchs it hears
A plaintive melody, truncated symphony
An ocean's garbled vomit on the shore,
Los Angeles, I'm yours
Oh ladies pleasant and demure, sallow-cheeked and sure
I can see your undies
And all the boys you drag about, an empty fallow fount
From Saturdays to Mondays
You hill and valley crowd, hanging your trousers down at heel
This is the realest thing, as ancient choirs sing
A dozen blushing cherubs wheel above
Los Angeles my love
Oh what a rush of ripe élan, languor on divans, dalliant and dainty
But oh the smell of burnt cocaine, the dolor and decay
It only makes me cranky
Oh great calamity, ditch of iniquity and tears
How I abhor this place, its sweet and bitter taste
Has left me wretched, retching on all fours
Los Angeles, I'm yours
Los Angeles, I'm yours
Los Angeles, I'm yours