Robert A. Wagner +/- The Little Wretches: Music

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The Paul Bunyan of the steel industry. In Hungarian, magarac means jack ass.

THE REMAINS OF JOE MAGARAC

The remains of Joe Magarac’s nephew,
In a casket shaped like a barge,
Parades through the streets of the river town
With a shockingly small entourage,
A weeping contingent of sobbing old union men
Dutifully follow behind
As he’s stoically dumped in the community pit
With a liberal spadeful of lime.

Joe Magarac’s son-in-law’s cousin
Takes a staple-gun and posters the town.
She offers reward for any information:
“Where have our union jobs gone?”
On the overnight shift at the unimart,
She makes a quarter above minimum-wage.
I think I can. I think I can. God damn it, yes, I can.
And so would you if you had bills to pay.

Joe Magarac’s schoolteacher’s grandson
Spent six years in the Federal Pen.
He could have gone free without serving time,
But a man shouldn’t rat out his friends.
He maintains he was only a businessman,
Like any other businessman. Six years he grieves!
I think I can. I think I can. God damn it, yes, I can.
And so would you if did business with thieves.

Joe’s barber’s granddaughter’s adopted son
Raises pit bulls in his garage.
They’re the cutest friendliest sweet little pups.
They’re the playfullest, loyalest dogs.
Then he fights them for a wager
In a blood-spattered alley.
But they live to fight, it’s part of their breed.
I think I can. I think I can. You ought to see them go.
You want to talk about a will to succeed?
It’s no worse than any other sport.
People pay to see prize-fighters bleed.

Go ask the writers undercover.
Hey detectives, go detect.
Ask the cops who made the bust,
Ask the judge who rigged the trial,
Ask the DA who he’s trying to protect.
Someone’s getting rich from the drugs and the murder.
Someone’s getting rich from the war.
If you have any questions, better keep them to yourself.
Why’d you drag my name into this for?
Want answers? Go follow the money-trail.
We won’t be seeing you around here no more.

Joe Magarac never had to pay for a drink in this town,
He never paid for a meal.
Joe Magarac didn’t need no college or goddamn books.
He was born to make steel.
Now he’s running to the store in the middle of the night
For detergent and diapers-- Oh no!
“You’re 80 cents short.”
“Come on lend me 80 cents. It’s only 80 cents, Come on!”
“Sorry, Joe.”

Joe Magarac can’t afford the bus-fare,
And the wind-chill is fourteen-below.
He’s got holes in the toes of his sneakers.
And he can barely see through the snow.
“Hey, lend me fifty cents for the pay phone.
“You remember me. I’m Joe Magarac.”
I think I can. I think I can. God damn it, yes, I can.
And if you do, I promise I’ll pay you back.

Listen here all you Magaracs – Family or friends--
You’re all doomed to hard luck.
‘Cause if you’re smart enough to fight
Against the business of evil and greed,
You’re smart enough to make a buck.
They buy off anyone could make a difference.
They say compromise is how things get done.
I think I can. I think I can. God damn it, yes, I can.
At least, I thought I could till they wore me down.

People died so you could vote.
People died so you could organize.
People died like hogs and cattle in wars
That, in retrospect, were fought over lies.
But I got a light bill, gas bill, cell-phone bill,
We need milk, We need bread, I mean—PLEASE!
I think I can. I think I can. God damn it, good for you
I gotta worry about what’s best for me.

Here they come ‘round the corner again,
The mourners, the straggling few.
The preacher’s voice through the karaoke machine
Warns the empty streets, “This could be you!”
The casket is covered with the US Flag
And a wreath of plastic grapes and wheat.
What the hell, I don’t know.
You tell me what it’s all supposed to mean.

I think I can. I know I could.
I’ll bet I could if I really tried.
And anyhow what does it matter?
You know I’m just along for the ride.
On the slow train to hell through the valley that fell.
All aboard! Make room! Move back!
It’s a long ride to nowhere.
I hope you brought a book
And a sandwich or two for a snack.
Ooh! Cool! Looks like we’re headed for a tunnel!
Did I ever tell you about Joe Magarac?