(by John Roberts and Tony Barrand)

	When I die, bury me low
	Where I can hear the petroleum flow.
	A sweeter sound, I never did know
	The rolling mills of New Jersey.

Down in Trenton, there is a bar
The bums, they come from near and from far
They come by truck, they come by car
The lousy bums of New Jersey

	When I die, ...
Down in Hoboken, there will be
Garbage as far as the eye can see.
There's garbage for you, there's garbage for me.
The garbage dumps of New Jersey.

	When I die, ...
When at last, I decided to roam,
Far away from my home in Bayonne.
I sat down, and wrote this poem.
I wrote an ode to New Jersey.

	When I die, ...

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