| There’s a cold wind blowing through the old east side
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| And it cuts with the devils’s curse
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| They' re turning our people into the streets
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| While the landlords line their purse
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| With the greenback dollar of the tourist trade
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| There’s a fortune to be had
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| Make way for the out-of-towners
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| For the tenants it’s just too bad
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| This appears to be their attitude, kick’em until they’re down
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| They' re only welfare cases and pensioners
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| And they’re easily pushed around
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| We invited the world to come and stay
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| And celebrate the fair
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| I wonder if the world will understand
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| The homeless walking there
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| I’m alright, Jack, and how about you?
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| Gonna catch me a wave that’s rolling through
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| And turn a trick or two
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| I’m alright, Jack, no flies on me
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| I’m within my rights, my conscience clear
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| I am the profiteer
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| The sign says closed for renovations, this is a con we all see through
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| It spreads like a poison through the town, monkey see and monkey do
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| Turn your slum into a mine squeeze them hard for every dime
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| The people will paint you criminals, but you just can' t see the crime
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| They' re all bastards with no morals
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| Overcome by a pitiful greed
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| For years they’ve taken rent from the tenants
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| Now they bite the hand that feeds
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| Easily turned a blind eye to all pain and despair
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| And I hope when the rush is over that their gold mines all stand bare |