Anyone know the words to this touching, and touched little ballad? I remember the chorus as
WHen I die bury me low
where I can hear the petrolium flow
through the pipes the pipes you know
that run through New Jersey
When the wind blows from the west, and I can smell my neighbors, I think on that song, as well as the health risks of living down wind of that lovely state, that gives New York, so much in the way of young highway deaths each year around this time. Having married a sweet young girl, from Hobokin, I need, at times to croon some praise to the state wherein lies the Meddowlands, perched atop the martyred remains of Jimmy Hoffa, and where Dixie extends so far up into other wise rational and thoughtful New England...
But serriously folks, In priase of that great land to the west...
anyone have the words?
Best wishes
Larry