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