A man of brawn and beer in a Staten Island bar
Said with a voice so clear Fill up me fuckin jar!
But it was to be his last for he'd pay now for his past
James McBratney from the kitchen was to go out with a blast
Though out numbered 3 to 1 he'd let no greaser have it said
That a Westie from Hells Kitchen let John Gotti have his head
When told "We've come to arrest you" McBratney knew for sure
With one arm he put the three assassins sprawled across the floor
Though he bravely stood his ground his life he still would lose
Like so many from the Kitchen he knew brawling and knew booze
From choir boys to men, with the strength and guts of ten
They were feared through out Manhattan where they met their bloody end
Since the days of Paddy Duggan the Westside knew no rest
Studs McElroy and Featherstone were those who ran the west
With alcoholic guts and wild narcotic nuts
Jimmy Coonan soon was rulin a Hells Kitchen full of fucks
Now on the other side of town big Paul was soon concerned
When he learned of these wild men and the hell in which they burned
With McBratneys guts in mind no solution could he find
Castellano called for Coonan for to put the past behind
Now these days are now since gone and these boys died by the gun
Like the Clantons and McLowerys when a different West was won
No never no more is what the coppers swore
But one day it may get hotter than it ever was before