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Factory John

de Damien Dempsey

Flying o'r the sea,
My guitar and me.
Thirty thousand feet,
What a brilliant feat.

Go west, don't go east,
A famine or a feast.
We're treated better there,
A homeless one is rare.

I feel,
The city's lure.
The apple of my eye,
I cherish her.

Everybody's here,
From all across the earth,
Tongues and tribes galore,
There isn't any war.

New York, New York, I'm comin'
New York, New York, I'm comin'
New York, New York, I'm comin'
New York, New York, I'm comin.

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