Oh don't you remember sweet Patsy from Pike,
Who came from California on her mountain bike
She came in September to the banks of the Miss
Expecting the weather would go on like this

Singing fol dol a radio fol dolderay

She left San Francisco with her bike and her dog
So she could escape from the cold and the fog
She thought Minnesota was south of D.C.
Californians do not know their geography

She opened a coffee shop there in St. Paul
Good Irish coffee served with alcohol
And people were happy and the music burst forth
Which is unusual there in the north.

It snowed in October and she nearly froze
For she had arrived in her summer clothes
She yearned for the ocean and the Golden Gate --
But she had a boyfriend so it was too late

His name was Lars, a good Lutheran lad
He had a gift, he could make her feel bad
He filled her with guilt for wanting to leave
And she stuck around until New Year's Eve

She went to a party and drank Chardonnay
That gave her visions of home faraway
Of vineyards and gardens and she said, I must go
Back to that paradise, San Francisco

She got on a plane, the last passenger
They deiced the wings and they deiced her
She reached California in almost four hours,
Got off and collapsed at the smell of the flowers.

She was dazed by the warmth, and crazed by the sun
She had no money, no home, and no one
She was rescued by Christians who said many prayers
As they took off her clothing, all seventeen layers

It took her time to reacclimate
To get used to the taste of fresh fruit on her plate
The sweet salt breeze and that beautiful Bay
Where people say Awesome fifteen times a day.

And this is the moral of Patsy of Pike
We are who we are and we like what we like
You can go for adventure and try for reform
But you better hold on to what makes you feel warm