Well he grew up when the city was still farmland,

when the Bronx was nothing more than fields of grass.

Every morning he would hitchike to Iona,

Every Sunday he'd be on his way to mass.

'Cause his mother said when his father died, when he was just sixteen,

"Well I did not sail from old Armagh to see you bagging beans."

And now it's:

Stand up straight.

Go and graduate.

And someday you'll be better off than me.

Oh, Eugene.

Well, one day he woke up, was pushing forty.

Got three kids running circles in the snow.

Nicked his neck wide open with a chainsaw,

and driving to the ER held it closed.

And now it's:

Stand up straight.

Go and educate.

And steer clear of those thicker evergreens.

Oh, Eugene.

Oh, Eugene.

Always slow to anger, he's a good man.

May have gotten even better with his age.

As calm as he is clever, you bet he'll live forever

in the eyes of all the children that he's raised.

And now it's:

Stand up straight.

What'd your mama say?

And what's life without proper company?

Oh, Eugene.

Oh, Eugene.