i've seen street corner preachers spending discharge pay between periods of getting stiff and happy tipplers singing songs of discontentment with each and every passing sip from the bookmaker's clerk on the rowdy racing circuit known as tom sharkey's brawling bar to the tenders at the pubs and illegal sporting clubs in this town i call my home you see, i come from a family who more or less traditionally sends its boys off to serve uncle sam obey your orders and protect your country said this father to his disheartened son i've traveled over seas, seen forks in the road from ravena to the pubs near cunard pier but the things were'nt the same, as the place where i became, a man in this town i call my home.
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