The Rolling Mills Of New Jersey
John Roberts and Tony Barrand
When I die, bury me low,
Where I can here 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 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.