| Just a walk in the park, Scollay Square after dark
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| I hear someone singin' «Is that Buddy Clark?»
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| This one’s a Bulfinch, I love every brick
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| The streets are so narrow and the accents are thick
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| Urban renewal, demolition, and the act of contrition
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| «Why would you live here in this condition?»
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| Why would they say that? |
| This is our home
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| The West End’s the best, then
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| Why won’t they just leave us alone?
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| A very short walk, but it’s block after block
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| Brutalist buildings beyond the shock
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| Cement and the steel and the zero appeal
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| If this was where you called home, then how would you feel?
|
| Urban renewal, demolition, and the act of contrition
|
| «Why would you live here in this condition?»
|
| Why would they say that? |
| This is our home
|
| The West End’s the best, then
|
| Why won’t they just leave us alone?
|
| Why won’t they leave us alone?
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| This is not squalor
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| It’s dollar to dollar
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| We don’t care about status
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| Or color or collar
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| This is not poverty
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| We don’t live in the slums
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| We are the working class poor
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| And we’re not just derelict bums
|
| Urban renewal, demolition, and the act of contrition
|
| «Why would you live here in this condition?»
|
| Why would they say that? |
| This is our home
|
| The West End’s the best…
|
| Urban renewal, demolition, and the act of contrition
|
| «Why would you live here in this condition?»
|
| Why would they say that? |
| This is our home
|
| The West End’s the best, then
|
| Why won’t they leave us alone?
|
| Why won’t they leave us alone? |