THE FLATLANDER IN NEW YORK CITY

THE FLATLANDER IN  NEW YORK CITY
by Donna Penley
 
 
I’m an’ ol’ flatlander from Kansas, an’ t’ New York I did go;
I’ll tell ya of my adventures an’ things learned I didn’t know.
 
Ya either walk or take a cab t’ anyplace far away;
An’, better take lotsa dough if in a hotel you want t’ stay.
 
Ya won’t understand yore driver, ‘cause most likely his name’s Singh ;
He wears a turbin that hides his hair – in his ear he wears a ring.
 
He’ll skim th’ sides o’ cars and buses – make yore hair stand right on end;
You’ll swear that while goin’ 50, that cab knows how t’ bend.
 
Ya might end up in Flatbush when ya wanted t’ go t’ Brooklyn;
Th’ cabbie, he thinks it’s a joke – yore payin’ while yore lookin’.
 
Th’ food is great, an’ really rich – but ya better take a bundle;
Of money in yore pocket, or yore bankbook, it’ll crumble.
 
An’ th’ fancy dancy restaurants don’t put prices on their menus;
If yore poor enough ya have t’ ask, better choose another venue.
 
Our food may be plain an’ simple, but I think theirs we can rival;
An’ th’ best thing about beef steak an’ taters – it’s at least identifiable.
 
Oh, I liked New York, don’t get me wrong – but I won’t go again;
I like it here in good ol’ Kansas, where neighbors are yore friends.
 
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