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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 |
