Pick up sticks was a game I played

Way back when the sun was born.

Stick ball kept the cops busy

When complaints came in.

Soft ball and baseball

With no umps to rule the game.

Fist fights were not uncommon

In the South Bronx where I lived.

There were race tensions

Between the Irish and Italians

And it got pretty nasty,

A broken head or two.

Then we grew up

And started dating girls.

Lots of dances we went to-

A walk to the park afterwards.

Remember a fight that broke out

In our Friday night TV fights.

Two guys who hated each other

Were stopped when the cops saw the crowd.

A few weeks later we learned

That one of the fellows was shot dead.

It was about two in the morning

When the bar tender and him were killed.

Seems they were the only two

In the bar at the time.

Bartender was an innocent victim,

So there would be no witnesses.

Vengence and hatred reared its head-

No one was ever found guilty.

Many of us knew, but couldn't prove it,

Who the killer really was.

It was around this time my wife and kids

Moved to Levittown, Long Island N.Y.

Used to stop back and see the gang,

But those visits were few and then none.

Just a glimpse of the good old days-

There is so much more left untold.

But they were happy occasions,

Not all but mostly as I remember.