My grandfather rocked, not in spite of himself
and he lived through it all in New York.
I'm taller by slight than the old man himself
though I've got hair considerably more.
Teddy Roosevelt stormed on the day that he was born
and the quaked San Francisco still cried.

He was a sharp
sport
ever to run again
'til the day he died.
(Wah-ahhhh...)

He lived in The Bronx and he played basketball.
Back then, each basket meant a center-jump.
Depression would come but he always stood tall.
Found some jobs so he wouldn't be a chump.
He would root for the Yanks 'til the planes and the tanks
took him out of New York, far and wide.

Served at far
fort
civilian again.
Recalled those who died.
(Wah-ahhhh...)

Well, he taught Mom so well, always to give 'em hell.
Taught the same to me when came my turn.
Had Yanks on TV, and Mets on radio
'til both of those appliances burned.
And he said, "Don't you smoke, don't you know, that's no joke.
Coughing leaves me so fit to be tied!"

And I stop
short
pay tribute to him again
as his joy and pride.
(Wah-ahhhh...)