Sylvan dells, sylvan dells—
it’s quittin’ time from the city.
Gonna bring useful things
when it is here, quittin’ day.

City eyes gawk, shifty snide talk’s
what you hear all the while,
so out there I am fleeing, post-quitting.
Here there’s traffic; it’s too manic
and people rarely smile.
On the corners, schizophrenics jeer.

Piddle smells, piddle smells
from pissing guys in the city.
Sprinkling is their thing…
move from Micturition Bay.

Hitting street fights, never-stop fights
bringing red from nose cleaved.
And the cops no more bother to measure
every blow (crunch!); winos blow lunch.
If Santa comes this way,
he’ll get hustled and robbed when he’s here.

Sylvan dells should make Santa Clause pause;
sylvan dells should become his new cause
and quit all time in the city,
He could bring all of the bling out there,
have a drink of milk we all could share.
Hope he’ll join on quittin’ day.

City eyes gawk, sh*t on sidewalks (piddle smells)
deposited dog-style (sickly smell);
so out there I am fleeing, post-quitting
(no Christmas time in the city).
Here it’s manic, too much panic (crazy things)
and people rarely smile
Very soon it will be quittin’ day.