The first aroma I smell when I step off the plane,
Just happens to be a bouquet that a man is holding.
The fresh smell of red, red roses,
Drifting over to the gate.
This is not the smell of New York.

When I step out of the airport doors, and onto the street,
I can smell, almost feel the burning tar on the road.
The nauseous stink of gas,
From all the cars' engines baking in the sun.
This is not the smell of New York.

Inside the car, driving along the highway,
I am trapped with the smell of my car.
The stagnant and stale air smell,
From being left in the airport parking lot.
This is not the smell of New York.

Stopping at a rest station on the side of the road,
Oily Fast Foods and coffee fill my nose.
The deep-fried salty scent of burgers and fries,
Dipped in Heinz ketchup.
This is not the smell of New York.

Unlocking the front door to the house,
With all these smells gathered in my nose.
Fresh roses, nauseous gas, deep-fried salty hamburgers and fries,
And the familiar smell of my home and family.
This is my smell of New York.