Pink smeared lip, scowl of neon attitude,
Peroxide blonde, with a peroxide mood.
Heads turn but she snaps them back with a sneer,
Punk Marilyn on the sidewalk with cheap warm beer.
Warhol would have loved her; she would have sent him packing.
NYC is her city; reflecting punk life, brutal but cracking.
Flashing hearts in this urban jungle, she keeps hers firmly under wraps. Cabs spin past in the burning summer heat; the warmth tempting her charcoal eyes to look beyond the sidewalk. Her love for this sprawling high rise playground is flashing in cold blue neon just outside her window. She will never leave here; this is her patch, her piece of the action. Flash, NYC neon, flash and keep her close to your warm concrete walls.
Doesn’t matter where I roam,
Only one place I call home.
Keep your posh Manhattan pad,
Livin’ uptown would make me sad.
My heart belongs to Brooklyn, baby
There is no doubt, no why, no maybe.
Brooklyn is a bit of me,
The only part of NYC.