music by Rick Mealey, Paula Naveda, and Josh Walsh
lyrics by Rick Mealey
I rolled up to the kaffeeklatsch
but Jay and Paul weren’t there
Stymie poured the special blend
that came from God knows where
it seemed that we agreed to meet
but maybe I was wrong
you are leaving us behind already
this did not take long
and I am looking out the window
as the salt air frosts the panes
dusting off the bleached white bones
and dredging the remains
you thought you was a hero, baby
you and your companion
they’re running gloss about you
up and down Topanga Canyon
come on
We heard you paid down Sunset Strip
they lined up out the door
for some cheap divertimento
I ain’t never heard you play before
you made it look too easy
you made it look all right
there’ll surely be a hot old time
in Fernwood tonight
but I am sweeping up the filters
from a thousand cigarettes
and contemplating how much more
ridiculous this gets
you thought you was outstanding, baby
you and your companion
blowing Santa Anas
up and down Topanga Canyon
palm trees line the avenues of all your waking daydreams
but those pink and purple stucco walls will seal you in
you’re thinking we are history
the stinging fades by cruel degrees
I might still show you a thing or three
but tell me, where would I begin?
someone thought of burning you in effigy for blasting off
and all the rest are pressing hard for tell-tale clues
you traded in your paints and easels
for Beamers with their turbo diesels
they ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of weasels
they ain’t fit to shine your shoes
well, we hear you played the Plaza
and it really blew your mind
soon you’ll be in Edmonton
won’t that be just fine
that contract just best guarantee
that your ride was built to last
you used to have some friends down here
but we are fading fast
and I am selling off my ticket stubs
and my band memorabilia
you really used to touch us
now we cannot even feel ya
you taught us all a lesson
with your new-found fast companion
but what’s that sticking to the walls
upside Topanga Canyon
I don’t know
(aw don’tcha think it’s smelling a little bit ripe?)
well, I don’t know you any more
(c) 1995 (p) 2009 @Fulcrum