(chorus:)
Of passion, love, and bravery
A brown bag lunch, and a mug of tea,
Through gates of horn and ivory,
Weâre dreaming in Hellâs Kitchen.
A pugnacious politician in his armor-plated suit
Propitiates the wealthy while he fiddles with his flute
Heâs crusader, Alexander, and Napolean to boot
Heâs seeking fresh objectives on the borders of the Kitchen
So thereâs this one and thereâs that one,
Gracie Mansion & the âStreet,
Denouncing some poor devil who has nothing left to eat,
And heâs not allowed to sleep here so heâd best stay on his feet
For we care so much about him that weâll kick him from the Kitchen.
Thereâs many on the breadline who never tried to fight
And thereâs 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 heâs a drunkard, that bum 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 Iâm dreaming in Hellâs Kitchen.
