Mr. J. Medeiros - Portagee

Poor-ta-gee poor-ta-gee
My bisavô hit the shore to be
The first azorean overseas pico da pedra
They say that it's calling me
Fourth generation disorientation now
Tell me can Jason speak Portuguese?
No, but I'm talking that shit though from Taunton to Bristol
You see the Poor-ta-gee all in me
I am Joseph Barboza with bars
I'm every Joseph in bars
Under the nose with a bar
I'm from the coast
Where the La Cosa Nostra is close
cnd they know who you are
Like, that's Campy my Vovô
With a sawed-off at that speakeasy
He got hauled off by the meat wagon
Even if he knew you he wouldn't speak easy
cnd he did his bid yeah he played the game
But it ended all the same, they never paid him for it
But he couldn't do shit but read the obit's
Till the "son-of-a-bitch" he finally paid for it
cnd if you don't know what I'm talking about
That's good thats great thats step one
Got my hand zip-locked for the running mouths
So you're guaranteed to catch a fresh one

Give me your tired, give me your poor
Fuck you pay me
Your huddled masses yearning for more
Fuck you pay me
Just follow that woman with a mighty torch
Fuck you pay me
The homeless exiled and the tempest-tost
Fuck you pay me
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
Fuck you pay me
Now lift that lamp to the golden door

My father was beat by the R.I.P.D
For out running the law in a Ford model GT
Behind the bars with a phonebook
The guards only guard what you see
Eye for an eye so my pops let it be
Till the cops tried to swap his whole identity
They wanted a fall guy to do four or five
cnd on top of the old felony
Till my Vovô made a call
cnd if you knew New England at all
Then you know if you knew who you needed to know
Exactly who would be involved
Yeah
Did I lose you? Well it's hard to follow
Especially when you move to Colorado
With a pizza joint and if you get the point
Well now you know why I'm hard to follow
Wait a minute what's that phrase?
Oh yea real G's move in silence
Now sit down eat your slice of pizza and be shhh

Give me your tired, give me your poor
Fuck you pay me
Your huddled masses yearning for more
Fuck you pay me
Just follow that woman with a mighty torch
Fuck you pay me
The homeless exiled and the tempest-tost
Fuck you pay me
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
Fuck you pay me
Now lift that lamp to the golden door

I'm electric tape on cardboard boxes
On broken windows in all our cars
I'm chicken fences and caged rabbits
cnd fresh tomatoes in all our yards
I'm the velvet bullfighter hanging up over the radiator
I'm the snow flake through the broken ceilings
I'm the laundry lines between the neighbors
I'm white tanks and pleated slacks
I'm tattoo's in the 1930's
I'm random goods that "fell off the track"
Onto our laps to sell in a hurry
I'm Fall River, East Providence
Dartmouth, Warren, and Bristol
I'm Somerset, I am New Bedford
I'm with a hammer I'm with a pistol
I'm the galo de barcelos
Hiding everywhere you snoop
That rooster crow here
To let you know who's coming out the coup

Give me your tired, give me your poor
Fuck you pay me
Your huddled masses yearning for more
Fuck you pay me
Just follow that woman with a mighty torch
Fuck you pay me
The homeless exiled and the tempest-tost
Fuck you pay me
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
Fuck you pay me
Now lift that lamp to the golden door

Written by:
Lawrence Flores Ligad Jr.

Publisher:
Lyrics © Songtrust Ave

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