Dope-sick couples on the Lower East Side
Can't keep it together without being high
Hold out your arms and let us save you
Hold out your arms and jab it in you
Elitists in the alphabet town
Can't be polite or dance around
Without a proper fix inside the bathroom
Or a proper fixing of their hairdo
And on the jukebox there's a song I love
It plays on and on and on and on and on and on
If I don't get off this island,
May God strike me with lightning
I'm sick to death and violently dying to begin
In the city, with it's songs