Westside Girl

You live up the hill from Topanga Beach
Just a stone’s throw away but you’re so out of reach
You reside on the trendy westside where the ruling class is gay
I live in a cultural wasteland known as the South Bay

I wish I could say I was just your type
But deep in my heart, I’m a hope-to-die hype

Your eyes are brown, you’re beautiful, I think you’re outtasight
But we’re destined to be like 2 ships passing in the night
You belong at Ma Maison or some Rodeo Drive fashion shop
I’m driving around in circles in Compton trying to cop

You’re nibbling tеa and crumpets at a Bel-Air estatе sale
I’m chowing down a games burger in the L.A. county jail

You’re an actress and you write screenplays cause you got a way with words
I’m shacked up in Torrance with 18 tropical birds
You came from back east with your ivy leaguer ways
I’ll O.D. and die in L.A. where I was born and raised

I wish I could say that I was just your type
But deep in your heart, you know I’m a hope-to-die hype
I’ve worn out my crack pipe
The reaper thinks I’m looking really ripe