From the city of St. John
Wearing coats that shined
Colors from their sunny island
They looked upon the promised land
Where surely life was sweet
Did they ride into the street
To the bottom of a bad town
An angry race of fallen kings
Their southern sky was clouded by
Hung on the wall, shared the room
He thinks he's died and gone to heaven
How they are paid in gold
Just to babble in the back room
All night and waste their time
From the city of St. John without a dime