| Oh, but to just dance on steel, the Sky Pulaski way
|
| By the fires of Elizabeth, never cease to amaze
|
| So hats off to the industry’s casualties
|
| Tra loo tray lay
|
| Oh that swamp full of grabbing hands
|
| Pull you under New Amsterdam
|
| Chinese boxes hold their secrets well
|
| How many are there one can never tell
|
| Got to get religion, they gonna join that underground church
|
| Even the mole people got to get religion
|
| They gonna join that underground church
|
| Art class for the bourgeoisies, lab rats for the cat
|
| Real estate moguls, Chump Towers
|
| When the wind blows you can hear the windows go rat a tat rat a tat tat tat
|
| Jimmy Hoffa in the Meadowlands, weighing down that union man
|
| Grab his ankles, stevedores
|
| Oh how those Jets do roar
|
| Got to get religion, they gonna join that underground church
|
| Even the mole people got to get religion
|
| They gonna join that underground church
|
| Oh but to just dine on sewage, cold seagull pie
|
| Wrestle albino alligators and spin the good lie
|
| Oh that swamp full of grabbing hands
|
| Pull you under New Amsterdam
|
| Chinese boxes hold their secrets well
|
| How many are there one can never tell
|
| Got to get religion, they gonna join that underground church
|
| Even the mole people got to get religion
|
| They gonna join that underground church |