Ya know,

There's this park, you see, in New York

That's what this song is about

Where we used to grow up

And, um, hang around

And then we started moving on

And started going on the road

We weren't home that much

But, back then they had this really great idea

When we hit town

These parks were prime real estate, you see

And if we could keep them nice-looking

We could charge more rent for the places around town

Now, I know you guys have that here around Boston

But, you know, in New York

They had this great idea that there had to be a crack-down

So we could sweep the park clean of the undesirable elements

And we figured, what could we do?

Besides vote

Perhaps we could tell a song

To you

Through the musical medium

And then you'll know

So here we go

I really hope so

Well, here it is...



Rich man smells smoke, he smells something burning green

Doesn't like the odor, better put some badges on the scene

Put a blue suit on everybody you see hangin' round

And if that don't work, we're gonna close that park down... 

But anyway

Yesterday a man was busted trying to walk his dog

Cop didn't like his attitude, say that he was against the law

Shoot everybody with a mutt this side of the town

And if that don't work, we're gonna close that park down... 

Preach on, my wounded Chandler



You know when you're walkin through that park one night

Whether your skin is black or white

And you feel that particular pressure on the back of your head

And the hairs on the back of your neck start to stand up

And you hear a (police call)

Trust those hairs

Because if you're big or burly

Or even short and surly

Or if your cat's named Shirley

You could be walkin through that park

And meet with the most undesirable disaster

Compliments of your taxes

I'm not saying its gonna happen

I'm not saying that it will definitely happen

But it could happen

Because it has happened

I mean, it could be you

Or you, or you, or you, or you

Those guys back there

Yeah, that guy, yeah definitely

Those three, easily

Yup, you

Yup, that guy

That guy

Him

Those guys up there

Stinky or Scarface

Anybody

Well, enough of my yacking



What about your truth and your mother's apple pie

I guess it's all another part of your grand designing lie

Should I tell you something pretty so you don't end my way of life

Or should I come up from behind with some stolen, bloody, rusty knife

Well maybe I should sit by and watch you kill my friends

And maybe I can learn to love you and hope you never end

Perhaps I can learn to hate you but I think I already do

All I know for sure right now, it's gotta be me or you

While your uncle rolls his joints with his fifty dollar bill

I'm off in some other park, and I'm laughing at you still

Laughing my saggy ass of at you baby

C'mon tell me all of your stories

Tell me about your politics

Tell me anything

Tell me how you blame your kids

Tell me