Canvas sacks upon our backs off to the shack we’d go
Down the walk, across the fields to do what we did know
Loose papers packed in bundles, depending on their size
Small ones into fifty and large ones twenty-five
The taxi man was native, our hero, he was Jack
We’d ride each day to help him out, starting from the shack
Bundles dropped upon each corner for each paper route
Finally we’d reach our stop, the sack it was our suit
Four brother’s tearing bundles down, counting on our knee’s
Two blocks to cover for Mick, two blocks to cover Flea’s
Sacks fully packed and cart in tow, “D” and me would go
Off to drop “Rags” at each door, flick wrist within a throw
Collecting was another thing on each Thursday night
Each to pay just sixty cents for news that could excite
Mom she was our manager each day she’d see us out
Making sure we were on time to do our paper route.
Wall of Words 