It aint no fine life.
Wakin' up early and sellin' those damn papes until ya' can't walk no more.
No, it definetly aint no fine life.
Dreamin of things ya' know ya'll never get. Not even Spot Conlon can get enough dough in his pocket ta get his ass from one day till the next. At least once a week ya'll see him sleepin' in the gutter. And when ya do, just leave him lie. Unless ya've lived his life, you wouldn't understand.
The fine life don't exist for me.
Day in an' day out I work meself ta' me limit. And for what? So I can make enough dough so I can buy all me papes and work my ass off again tommorow.
But what if tomorrow don't come?
I won't lie ta ya. Sleepin' in the streets is the most dangerous thing a kid can do, next ta offendin' Spot. Sometimes the orphan trains come and force ya out west.An woirse, sometimes ya get killed. But maybe bein' dead aint that bad? I'd be sittin' up dere in heaven with me mudda and fadda. Ha! Forget that. Dere aint no room in heaven for da street rats. Heaven don't exist for us.
But what if it did?
If dere's a heaven, den dere's a hell too. I'd go ta hell for sure. What with all the sins I've committed? Specially stealin'! I'll be damned if I don't snitch me dinnah every night. But what does it matter? I'm damned anyway. What does it matter the sins I commit while I'm still here on earth?
Man the sins I've committed!
I get meself drunk almost every night. Not just on booze, women too. I've had em all.Thankfully I aint married- no goil would have me- so I don't gotta count adultery ta me list. I know I've lied. Jack says it aint lyin', just improvin' da truth a liddle. But I'se seen headlines so lousy that ya' gotta lie ta' sell even one lousy papah. Of course, some days ya' just can't sell no papes anyways.
Damned if I aint seen fire, rain, an' everthin' in between.
I've sold on days so hot that even Mush'll complain. When none of the hoity toity people, who can actually afford a pape, will venture further than their front doors. The types adays when da weaker, an' da smaller newsies will faint from fatigue. One time, one of 'em died from it. His name was slider, but no one remembers why no more. Half a dem don't even remember him at all. He was just 8 when he died.
Den dere was Snipeshooter. He died from da cold. I remember 'cause he was like me liddle brudder. It was January. Dere was dis huge blizzard, and papes were movin' slower dan jack's brain. He didn't have no money ta' get a bunk for himself nowheres. Had too much pride to take no charity. We found him next day at da Horace Greely statue. Frozen solid. He aint nowheres now. Snipester didn't believe in da afterlife. So I'se pretty positive his soul just disapered. But I believe, at least a liddle, in da aftahlife,. So matbe I'll get one.Dere's only one way ta' know for sure.
Anything'll beat dis rotten life. Even hell.
Hell don't scare me. I'se seen worse. I just can't take livin' no more. So dat's it, I'se just gonna kill meself. Tomorrow de'll all wake up an' go ta' buy dere papes an I aint gonna be dere. All the liddle ones'll ask where I went. An' Jack'll have ta tell 'em that I'se gone. Then they'll carve me name on da wall of da lodgin' house, right under Spipes. "Racetrack Higgins." Yeh, dat was me, but no I aint nobody.
Remember me, I'll be gone in da mornin'.