Jack Rose had a brother who was known as Bronx Sour,
Outside Jack's apartments, would stand listening for hours
He wasn't a fool and he knew all too well,
That things were occurring which Jack wouldn't tell.
Bronx Sour was sneaky, he did what he could,
And knew when his brother was up to no good,
That summer, by moonshine, he waited all night
To find out the secret of Jack Rose's delight.
The source of the bruises, the caller of names,
The giver of gladness, the player of games-
Bronx waited till morning was turning to rose,
And then a small noise interrupted his doze-
Hid in a corner, Bronx- set and prepared
For some rebellious maiden with a defiant glare
To come sneaking from Jack's rooms, a blush in her face
Her tongue still tingling from Jack Rose's taste-
But no such intruder there was on the peace,
No blushing young girl with her clothing all creased
But a boy, tall and dark-skinned with eyes like the night
With handsome, strong shoulders and features alight,
And he was flushed from thrill, and those lips had been kissed,
And Bronx Sour's assumption had aimed and had missed
The boy stole away, disappeared into dawn,
Quiet and graceful as a spring-legged fawn,
Jack Rose's dear lover, his secret, his prize,
His lust-stricken Romeo with hot chocolate for eyes-
None other but that creature, that black fizzie swine
That promiscuous lad, that gun-wielding grime-
Bronx watched his departure, felt his blood boil
Saw the name of Jack Rose and his family soiled-
And then with amounting and terrible zeal-
Bronx Sour followed, hot on Sam's heels.