Oh your coffee's gone cold in the middle of a northern storm
for the south coast of Britain you can't expect much more
than a train ride, through a country side that don't glitter like my home,
the way the Highway 1 in the midday sun outlines a sea that shines like gold.
She's a woman, she's a prize, so many men have died to own this land,
and every line and curve, so delicately preserved what sculpted by god's hands,
and she'll love you if you're rich, she'll love you if you're poor, she don't care for mortal things,
and if you fall upon your darkest hour you'll be lifted by her wings.
Cause California's not so far away for me to dream,
and I can reach out and touch the silver seams,
as I cross the golden gate,
where as a child I would lay,
and watch the hills turn into sea,
and drift so peacefully to sleep.
So if you find, your love's gone sour just put yourself to sleep
and reminisce on what you've missed as you fall into a dream
oh she may not have the brains or the class but god she's got the looks,
and when you wake you'll quickly find California's got you hooked
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