Оригинален текст
(chorus:)
Of passion, love, and bravery
A brown bag lunch, and a mug of tea,
Through gates of horn and ivory,
Were dreaming in Hells Kitchen.
A pugnacious politician in his armor-plated suit
Propitiates the wealthy while he fiddles with his flute
Hes crusader, Alexander, and Napolean to boot
Hes seeking fresh objectives on the borders of the Kitchen
So theres this one and theres that one,
Gracie Mansion & the Street,
Denouncing some poor devil who has nothing left to eat,
And hes not allowed to sleep here so hed best stay on his feet
For we care so much about him that well kick him from the Kitchen.
Theres many on the breadline who never tried to fight
And theres many that have earned their bread
by working day and night
But with all their sweat and labor was there chance that saw them right
While a hazard of the dice left the others by the kitchen?
He stinks and hes a drunkard, that b*m we just passed by
And I think but for the grace of God that likewise there go I
And the buck inside his cup is less compassion for a sigh
Than libation when Im dreaming in Hells Kitchen.