“Small change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
And the marquees weren’t weeping, they went stark-raving mad
And the cabbies were the only ones that really had it made
And his cold trousers were twisted, and the sirens high and shrill
And crumpled in his fist was a five-dollar bill
And the naked mannequins with their Cheshire grins,
And the raconteurs and roustabouts said buddy, come on in, ’cause
‘Cause the dreams ain’t broken down here now, they’re walking with a limp
Now that small change got rained on with his own thirty-eight.”