the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who
blew and were forced to open antique on Madison Avenue amid blasts
of leaden verse & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the abyss I'm with
you in Rockland where you imitate the shade of my mother I'm with
you in Rockland where you scream in a straightjacket that you're
losing the game of the Bronx I'm with you in Rockland where