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Away down town, where the atmosphere is hazy
From the smoke of all the factories ascending to the sky
The smells, they are so horrid, it would almost set you crazy
But I’m told in that neighborhood the people seldom die
Way up on the “Slope” all of the people are complaining
From the foul scented odors all their health is quickly waning
And the smoke from the soft coal their linen it is staining
When the wind blows that way from Gowanus Canal
When the wind blows east, when the wind blows west
Or when it’s from the north or south, you never get a rest
In summer or in winter, in the spring or in the fall
You breathe the same old odors from Gowanus Canawl
In fabled “Darby’s Patch,” oh that muddy stream, it rises
And down to sweet Gowanus Bay it rushes with a roar
Where barges and canal boats and schooners of all sizes
Are unloaded by Tom Hanley, the jolly stevedore
The girls you find down there are all so winsome and so pretty
And the boys they are so healthy; if not handsome, then they’re witty
And all of you know Farrell–“he’ll be Mayor of Slob City”–
He’s thriving on the odors of Gowanus Canal
CHORUS
