Verse 1:

Oh there's

\fires to the south

snows to the east and west

cross the coastals to the sea

and find dear liberty


In this hole between the mountains high

we suffer through two seasons.

The heat it stifles and it parches,

sickness with the change to cold.

There's hardly spring or fall to speak of

in this valley we call home.

Verse 2:

Oh there's

Yosemite so close

the redwoods way up north

take the dread grapevine mess

to find Los Angeles



I guess we can't complain

when we won't move away.

I guess the only choice for us is to endure

this shitty fucking weather and the lack of things to do!

Verse 3:

Oh there's

asthma in our lungs

smoggy air in the sky

''and winter tule fog


There's hardly spring or fall to speak of

but this valley's still our home