There's a part of the country could drop off tomorrow in an earthquake,
Yeah it's out there on the cutting edge, the people move, the sidewalks
shake
And there's another part of the country with a land that gently creaks
and thuds,
Where the heavy snows make the faucets leak in bathrooms with
free-standing tubs
They're in houses that are haunted, with the kids who lie awake and
think about
All the generations past who used to use that dripping sink

And sometimes one place wants to slip into the other just to see
What it's like to trade its demons for the restless ghost of Miss
Oglivey
She used to pick the mint from her front yard to dress the Sunday pork,
Sometimes southern California wants to be western New York

It wants to have a family business in sheet metal or power tools,
It wants to have a diner where the coffee tastes like diesel fuel,
And it wants to find the glory of a town they say has hit the skids,
And it wants to have a snow day that will turn its parents into kids,
And its embarrassed, but it's lusting after a SUNY student with mousy
brown hair who is
Taking out the compost, making coffee in long underwear

And southern California says to save a place, I'll meet you there,
And it tried to pack up its Miata, all it could fit was a prayer,
Sometimes the stakes are bogus, sometimes the fast lane hits a fork,
Sometimes southern California wants to be western New York

Tempe, Arizona thinks the Everglades are greener and wetter,
And Washington, DC thinks that Atlanta integrated better,
But I think that southern California has more pain than we can say,
Cause it wants to travel back in time, but it just can't leave LA

But now I hear they've got a theme park planned, designed to make you
gasp and say,
Oh, I bet that crumbling mill town was a booming mill town in its day,
And the old investors scoff at this, but the young ones hope they'll
take a chance,
And they promise it will make more dough than Mickey Mouse in northern
France,
And the planners planned an opening day, a town historian will host,
And the waitresses look like waitresses who want to leave for the west
coast

And they'll have puttering on rainy weekends, autumn days that make you
feel sad,
They'll have hundred year old plumbing and the family you never had,
And a Hudson River clean-up concert and a bundle-bearing stork,
And I hear they've got a menu planned, its tres western New York