Leave your passport, and deposit, With the man behind the desk, In a motel on the boulevard of no fixed address. In this smoothest, saccharine city Where the sun always shines, While it roasts its turkeys slowly, On a never ending line. Oh, Los Angeles with your ivy-mantled lawns, Oh, Los Angeles with your candy coated homes. I'll try the phone just one more time. Answering service comes on the line Take my name, hotel room number, As I add my birthdate & sign. Will my credentials give me a start And will they warm somebody's heart? Or if I make a sudden movement, Will it all crack wide apart? Oh Los Angeles In the end do your prisoners fail? City of the sirens, How your guardian angels wail! Oh Los Angeles How does your garden grow? Old gold, Los Angeles Your wrinkles barely show.