Holly Golly! Where’s my ride?

The tribes of Israël are camp.
They’re gettin’ closer – gettin’ closer.
The morse-code of the blinkin’ eye
Dayan’s in the tunnels; ham and rye!
Nail and tooth; cut-and-paste;
Holly-Golly! Clay appraised.
Fadin’. Fadin’ like the tide.
And where’s my ride?