this  city…this city…where blacks hate whites and Irish hate Italians and Italians hate Lebanese and the Lebanese hate everybody…this city…this city…

you old slave quarters…carrying man..woman…and child down to the river…seeking salvation…baptized in muddy waters…never was there purity…never…

and sections were drawn…lines not to be crossed…from Old North to South…everyone knows their place…watch it man…

where once business prospered now heroin runs wild in the streets…and the ever present smell of burning bush…a cocked-hat…a golden chain…a Swisher Sweet…all that is required…

here i take the Grand Avenue bus to a church of old where prayers can be offered…candles lit…sent up…sent up…for this city…this city…

where blacks hate whites and Irish hate Italians and Italians hate Lebanese and the Lebanese hate everybody…this city…this city…