This was on Mad Moskowitz last night. It's apparently by John Forster:
ENTERING MARION
(John Forster)

Every year I drive out to Cape Cod for the last part of June.
Leave the city by ten and you're there in the late afternoon.
On the way there's a village called Marion that you pass through.
The first time I approached it, I'll always remember the sign that came into view.

It said, "Entering Marion." And I thought, "What a fun little sign!"
But the feeling of entering Marion had a kick that was hard to define.
A rapturous rush, a physical flush, chills up and down the spine.
For the few minutes I was in Marion, all Massachusetts was mine.

[spoken] Well, it got to be kind of an annual thing ... the event that would start each vacation off with a bang!

Then one year—who knows why?—I decided to try a new route.
So I got out my map and I traced one I thought was a beaut.
After driving all morning, I came to the top of a hill,
Where a sign stood before me that promised a new kind of thrill.

It said, "Entering Beverly," which was lovely and not overbuilt.
And the pleasure of entering Beverly far outweighed any feelings of guilt.
I could say I'm contrite but it wouldn't be right, for the truth is that later that day,
I found myself entering Sharon. It was there. So was I. We enjoyed it. Hey, what can I say?

By the next year I'd try any route, just for novelty's sake.
I was cursed with a thirst that no single township could slake.
Oh, at the wheel I looked calm but inside I was running amok,
When a sign in the road dead ahead sent me straight into shock:

"Entering Lawrence." My God! I was out of control.
And I'd no sooner finished with Lawrence than Boom! I was entering Lowell.
Then I backtracked and re-entered Lawrence, then Quincy and Norton as well.
Around midnight I pulled into Athol and flopped in a fleabag motel.

I slept fitfully in my clothing
And awoke in a pool of sweat and self-loathing.
Lying there, feeling lower than carrion,
A name came clear as a clarion.
I jumped in my car
And before very far--

I was entering Marion. How totally, wonderfully great!
How grand to be entering Marion after tramping all over the state.
Every sleaze-bucket burb, every tryst by the curb, had really just helped me to find
I'm happiest entering Marion. I guess I'm the Marion kind.
Oh yes, I'm the Marion kind.

Looks like it's © 1988 Limousine Music, from Forster's website
I think it's pretty neat, nearly seamless in its refusal to crack a chuckle (but then I was at a Boy Scout Camporee over the weekend, where we all ate a bunch of brownies)...