City of Angels?

The machine keeps pumping us through this dusty place In the belly of the beast that is Californ-i-a, Russian Roulette drinking from these taps, I kept my receipts For when they weigh me on my way to Oregon. (Here nothing is free). The greyhounds keep coming Dumping locusts into the street Until the gutters overflow and spill egos on the dead grass And California thinks, "I might explode someday soon." Leave your cameras at home for this one It wont be a pretty sight Good marijuana is not a good enough reason for me to stay You should have given me something else, Enough with the fake tits and cocaine. I cant even see the sun through this thick shroud of broken dreams. I filled my car with gas and instantly doubled it's value Smoked salmon breath and rain spattered streets await. Like I said, It wont be a pretty sight.