Your mumbles, I understood,
as life gives us scars,
we make a choice, of what we should,
whilst saying prayers at bars,
in sincerity, and piss taking,
a friend was truly made,
New York song’s awakening,
sweet chant is on parade,
your soul goes wherever now,
doesn’t matter if you’re pious,
but surely, not just underground,
as pub-folk don’t want mires,
a barstool gangster, I still see,
calling shots, at Philly Ryan’s,
where proud loving Vikki,
is with your chosen scions.