The Fiery Furnaces - Forty-Eight Twenty-Three Twenty-Second Street Lyrics

Now, as for my aunt, who told on me
She was always wearing her turbans
Sailing back to Greece on the Normandy
Having dinner at the captain's table
Sitting on the deck with five men surrounding her
With uncle Sam in the back row

Back at home, riding up the Taygetus
On a donkey named David,
With her soft leather boots dangling off to the side
So full of pride, so full of pride

Profitis Elias, so high you can see us
forty eight, twenty three, twenty second street standing there
With cashmere overcoats
And those turbans with their Arabian silver
And ostrich and papagou feather hats
And not far down from our koumbaros Betinis

We've got a secret between us Betinis
In the back of the Hawthorne smoke shop
In the basement of the hat factory
The fedoras got glued together
But in that back basement
In that back basement a lot of things got sewn up

A full compliment of grinchy Italians
Counting up on their stubby fingers
And smoking, I'm told
The least sophisticated cigars
The local lottery and so forth
Like anybody was going to get a night out of that nut
Though what a lucky loser is our five thousand dollars
A day friend and koumbaros Betinis.
We've got a secret between us, Betinis

In the back of the Hawthorne smoke shop
Haberdashery was the least of it
In the basement of the hat factory
The fedoras got glued together
But in that back basement
In that back basement, a lot of things got sewn up

We've got a secret between us, Betinis
Five thousand dollars dollars a day
Five thousand dollars dollars a day
Five thousand dollars dollars a day
Five thousand dollars dollars a day

In the basement of the hat factory
The fedoras got glued together
But in that back basement
In that back basement, a lot of things got sewn up
We've got a secret between us, Betinis

Not that nobody knows, like nobody knows
About the white doves that flew out the cake at
The brother's wedding
In your hat factory, Betinis
They count up all the buffalo
Nickels and silver certificates
Wrung from Lake Superior spirits

And prize fight foolery, and sluts
Speaking easy in the closets on 12th street
And in exchange you put in your pants five thousand dollars
A day to stick under your bed for starters
But later in the laundry, so you can
Feel free to chase your wife around the table
When you feel she looked at the apricot
And boysenberry boy twice