The Ballad of Christy Farrell

 

Christy arrived from Dublin

In search of a better life

He wanted to be in America

Far from homeland strife.

 

He saw an ad in the paper

“Work for the WPA!”

He waited on line, his hat in his hand

And he landed a job that day.

 

Now Christy was a good worker

That could not be denied

But that day he embellished his talents

Let’s face it – Christy lied.

 

He said he could handle a tractor,

Ran one since he was three

But there’s not much plowing in Dublin

Sure and there’s hardly a tree.

 

But off to Jones Beach they sent Christy

To rake up the sand for a beach

They gave him the key to a tractor

The ignition was easy to reach.

 

Christy sat on the tractor like Rommel

Goggles shielding blue eyes.

He was the Sheik of this desert

He felt eternal and wise.

 

A boardwalk stretched out before him,

The foreman’s joy and his pride.

But a turn of the wheel, a slip of the gear

Took Christy on a wild ride.

 

The rake on the back of the tractor

Did damage – putting his life at stake

It had ripped up the Jones Beach boardwalk

Christy knew he had made a mistake.

 

The foreman pulled out his pistol

Bullets fanned Christy’s head

The Jones Beach boardwalk was ruined

The boss wanted Christy dead.

 

Christy, leaped from the tractor

And ran for the ferry with speed

Yelling, “Get me back to the city

Away from the beach and sea breeze.”

 

 

 

 

 

Back to New York went Christy

Back to cement and stale air

Jones Beach became very famous

But Christy never went there.

 

 

Mary Parker

This entry was posted on Monday, March 21st, 2011 at 9:43 am and is filed under Music and Arts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.