From Boston

When you’re from Boston You join an Irish gang You’re surely Roman Catholic You eat chowder every day You park your car at Harvard Yard You’ll be buried at Fenway Is this the life you expect to hear me say? When you’re from Boston My father works down at the docks All my brothers are Charlestown cops Mother works up at the factory The Garden is my second home The Cape is the only beach I know And we all hate Neil But we love Sweet Caroline Movies and TV will show you Everything you think you know About the place that’s deep inside of me When you’re from Boston You join an Irish gang You’re surely Roman Catholic You eat chowder every day You park your car at Harvard Yard You’ll be buried at Fenway Is this the life you expect to hear me say? When you’re from Boston I must admit we sound a bit Like a cartoon version of ourselves to you And I must admit we seem a bit Like the weather owns our cold hard attitude And I must admit this part is true We are strong and we are proud We are honest we are loud And we’ll still say Cheers to you When nobody knows your name