| As the snow flies
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| On a cold and gray Chicago mornin'
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| A poor little baby child is born
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| In the ghetto
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| And his mama cries
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| Cause if there’s one thing that she don’t need
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| It’s another hungry mouth to feed
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| In the ghetto
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| People, don’t you understand
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| The child needs a helping hand
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| Or he’ll grow to be an angry young man some day
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| Take a look at you and me
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| Are we too blind to see
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| Do we simply turn our heads
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| And look the other way
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| Well the world turns
|
| And a hungry little boy with a runny nose
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| Plays in the street as the cold wind blows
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| In the ghetto
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| And his hunger burns
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| So he starts to roam the streets at night
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| And he learns how to steal
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| And he learns how to fight
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| In the ghetto
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| Then one night in desperation
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| A young man breaks away
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| He buys a gun, steals a car
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| Tries to run, but he don’t get far
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| And his mama cries
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| As a crowd gathers 'round an angry young man
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| Face down on the street with a gun in his hand
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| In the ghetto
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| As her young man dies
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| On a cold and gray Chicago mornin'
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| Another little baby child is born
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| In the ghetto
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| And his mama cries |