The people are okay, they say—
Just west, beyond the riverway,
The lot is worse;
But here the folks could want to stay.

The roads are heaped with wood, for good,
A rubble where the fan-trees stood—
A bric-à-brac
Replaced their friends from Hollywood.

The garbage-getting band, we understand,
Will do us something grand,
Come shuffle by
And truck it to Schlaraffenland!