Seventy miles of wind and spray,
Seventy miles of water,
Seventy miles of open bay,
It's a garbage dump.
What's that stinky creek out there,
Down behind the slum's back stair,
Sludgy puddle, sad and gray?
Why man, that's San Francisco Bay!
Big Solano and the Montecell',
Ferry boats, I knew them well,
Creak and groan in their muddy graves,
Remembering San Francisco Bay.
Joe Ortega and the Spanish crew
Sailed across the ocean blue,
Came into this mighty Bay,
Stood on the decks and cried, "Ole!"
Fill it here, fill it here,
Docks and tidelands disappear,
Shaky houses on the quakey ground,
The builder, he's Las Vegas bound.
"Dump the garbage in the Bay?"
City fathers say, "Okay.
When cries of anguish fill the air,
We'll be off on the Riviere."