WEST COAST STORY
It was a down-at-the-heels place
A five story apartment house
When the elevator reached each floor
It squealed like a big fat mouse.
The lobby was all graffitied up
Like a tagger had gone stark mad.
But the rent was cheap and also
The pads themselves weren’t bad.
The woman from right above me
Had a laugh like a turkey gobble.
Which fits because her big old chin
Had a big baggy fat turkey wattle.
She thought her husband
Never had played around
But he slipped into apartment B
Whenever his wife went downtown.
Delbert lived downstairs from me
And he wasn’t the brightest kid.
Sometimes I had to laugh aloud
At some of the things he did.
But, the silliest may have been
When he made a marijuana buy.
He paid out a hundred dollars cash
For a bunch of parsley left to dry.
Six members of a rock band
Rented out the entire first floor
So that people who came there
Could knock on a window or a door.
Dial-a-party was always going on,
They didn’t need a door chime
There was a hootenanny somewhere
On that floor in four-four time.
There was a batch of little people
A bawdy rowdy lot they were
And a former famous madam
Who always wore a lot of fur.
Of course, it was Hollywood and
It was seldom cool enough
To need that heavy of a coat
But nobody wanted to piss her off
As that might have rocked her boat.
Being rather a homebody type
I didn’t really fit in with the crowd.
It was often that the late nights
Were disturbing and illegally loud.
But to tell the truth, I liked it
The noise, the freaks and everything,
Because every day and every night
Something exciting was happening.