Big Apple Gators

When you fly into New York, an awesome skyline you’ll be greetin’
On the surface, take a taxi to that most important meetin’
Below ground, go by subway to the restaurant or the-ater
But don’t go any lower! In the sewers there be gators!

How did alligators, wit’ their big ol’ snappy mouth,
come to live below Manhattan, when we know they grow down south?
Did some genius think, while noshin’ on his bagel an’ his lox
“What this city really needs is alligators, or crocs?”

They were brought back by New Yorkers wint’rin’ in the Florida sun
Who thought a dangerous animal could mean some family fun
They needed gifts for grandkids, who might feel really hurt
if Gram went to Miami an’ all they got was a T-shirt

Each Grandpa had the same idea. “I know what to get!
I’ll buy little Joe a baby gator for a pet
Joe will be the envy of every kid in school
He can use the family bathtub as the gator’s swimmin’ pool”

At first the little beasts were welcome in the family nest
Then they started bitin’ an’ becomin’ a real pest
New York moms appreciated feelin’ clean an’ showered
They couldn’ enjoy their bathtime with a chance they’d be devoured

All around Manhattan they cried “This just can’t go on”
An’ all the families flushed their alligators down the john
These reptiles congegrated where its stinky, damp an’ dark
Then they started breedin’ in the sewers of New York

This started in the Thirties, flushin’ baby crocodilians
Some were boys an’ some were girls; by now there could be millions
There ain’t no light way down below, an’ if you believe the winos
they’ve grown into a colony of giant, blind albinos

Criminals who hide below and see those big jaws snap’ll
learn they’re not the baddest bangers in that there Big Apple
They’ll find out soon enough that their zip guns and switch blades
Just ain’t a match for a maneater from the Everglades.

If you slip through an’ greet the beast in New York’s lowest level
You might think you fell to hell an’ met up wit’ the devil.
But will they come up an’ terrorize? I don’t think they would
They leave the upper city to the pushers, pimps, and hoods

They ain’t gonna swarm the streets if manholes ain’t kept shut
or swim up through a public john an’ bite you on the butt
No need to hide up in the sky in a high-rise elevator
Jes’ be careful not to go too low; in the sewers there be gators.

© September 1, 2014



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