This is an oldie. Same vein as "That's my boy." Country meets big city - cognitive dissonance ensues.
A slick wet film, watched and washed.
A tear in his eye, a mop that won't dry.
From twenty floors up, and twenty floors down A fine performance, but the divers drown, in a sea of concrete along the street, where the pigeons shit.
And a one, two, three, and away we go, It doesn't matter which way the winds blow, that's the job.
That's the job.
And six feet before the twenty foot radius, Shamu splashes down and the tourists get wet ...they were warned, while the herring were fed. And the calculator cries out, "Newton's apple was red!"