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Georgie & the IRT
par
Dave Van Ronk
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Along came the IRT, a'cannon ballin' through From 242nd Street to Flatbush Avenue At 5:15 one Friday Eve, she pulled into Times Square The people filled the station, and Georgie he was there The people filled the station, they milled and massed around And Georgie looked upon that train and it was Brooklyn bound He vowed at once that train to board, the weekend not to roam For Georgie was a shipping clerk and Brooklyn was his home The people filled the station, a million head or more George used his elbows and his knees until he reached the door But when he reached those portals, he could not face the gaff The conductor shut the door on him and cut poor George in half The train pulled out of Times Square, the swiftest on the line He carried poor George's head along, but he left his body behind Poor Georgie died a hero's death, his martyrdom's plain to see And the very last words that Georgie said were "Screw the IRT" So when you ride the IRT and you approach Times Square Incline your head a few degrees and say a solemn prayer For his body it lies between the ties, amidst the dust and dew And his head it rides the IRT to Flatbush Avenue
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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.
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