Los Angeles from Black Leaf by Pilot Touhill

My oh my, it’s so hard today. Living, living in LA.
And so another day begins with palm trees dancing in the wind.
I check my pockets but I find there ain’t nothing much inside. This is the city I call my home.
So through these city blocks I roam and on these streets I roam alone. I see some vatos rolling low avoiding the popo, this is the city I call my home.
The cars are jammed on the freeway. The smog is hanging thick today. All the people rush to be on time, they all running way behind, this is the city I call my home.
Picked up a dub to get me by. Things seem much easier when you high. On the 105 past LAX, the beach is just ahead, this is the city I call my home.
Nothing but ocean in my way. I’m far away from her today. And though I’ll be returning soon to the dust and dirt and gloom, she’s still the city I call my home.
Her colors shine purple and gold, a pirate patch with no skull bone. Is there someplace you’d rather be? Because there’s no where else for me, Los Angeles, you are my home.

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