UNDER THE FREEWAY
'Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.’
Under the freeway near Anaheim,
an old bullfrog was having a mighty tough time.
Hydrocarbons equally to share,
breathing in deeply but so little air.
‘Ribbit’ your attention, said the old bullfrog,
before I croak with all that smog.
Mr. Disney as they’re marching to you,
let me tell you my point of view,
this habitat here is Mickey Mouse.
There’s little natural in this frog’s house.
It’s mighty goofy sleeping on cement.
One of these days they’ll probably be charging me rent.
‘Ribbit’ your attention said the old bullfrog,
before I croak with all that smog,
let me continue my point of view.
There’s daffy humans and movie stars,
cellular phones and souped up cars.
I’d love to leap from pond to pond,
but that concrete keeps going on and on.
Tinkerbell, wave your magic wand
for all those captains hooked on moving on,
let them hear the message behind this song.
You and I could be living like this frog, before long.
‘Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.’