Well, the shoeshine boy's got lines around the blocknThe bloodhound's let the convicts get awaynAnd after you're asleep, all the cheerleaders weepnAnd the ham-and-eggers win the Irish Sweepstakes every daynnThe paper boys make headlines and the janitors are winkingnAs they're filling up their dustpans full of hundred dollar billsnThe never-do-wells and stingy-pins all ride around in taxisnIn the style that they have grown accustomed tonnAnd the parking lot attendants leave the money in the drawernAnd take that Corvette Stingray with a four-on-the-floornAnd pull into the filling station and instead of gasolinenSay, 'Hey buddy, can you fill it with a nickel's worth of dreams?'