Surfin’ New Jersey

Not a poet, not even close Surfin' New Jersey The one I know isn't here They look at me funny, hee-hee-hee Get in with our suits zipped up Bobbing a while I try, but I don't catch much Driving home on the turnpike Shirtless in a silver sedan Air rolling in Angry rock 'n' roll slips out Into the Pine Barrens Falling asleep in the sun Bow to the green Burning through the black of our shades Making toast of our dreams Bearing the image of Christ