Your houses are big and beautiful
And their residents really nice
Your rural countryside is grand
When blanketed with ice.
Holes in the wall on every corner
Serve up decent vittles
But, New York, there's something wrong-
And I won't speak in riddles:
When you call it spicy. . .
Friend, it's certainly not-
Your sausage isn't fiery,
And your salsa isn't hot!
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