When I die, bury me low
Where I can hear the petroleum flow
A sweeter sound I never did know
The rolling mills of New Jersey.
In Hoboken, there will be
Trash as far as the eye can see
Enough for you, enough for me.
The garbage cans of New Jersey:
Down in Trenton, there is a bar
Where the bums come from near and from far
They come by truck, they come by car
The lousy bums of New Jersey:
When first I started to roam
I traveled far away from Bayonne
Then I sat down, and wrote this poem
I wrote an ode to New Jersey: