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 Montecelle'
Ferry boats, I know them well,
Creek and groan in their muddy graves
Remembering San Francisco Bay
Joe Ortega and the Spanish crew
Sailed across the ocean blue
Came into the mighty Bay
Stood on the decks and cried, "Ole"
Fill it here, fill it here.
Docks and tidelands disappear,
Shaky houses on the quaky 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."