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 yakking


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 $$# off 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