Your wife gone, you snore asleep upstairs.

A man with the vital essence of a Bull--
Connie's iron shoulders.

A post-depression butcher of South Philadelphia,
Our Mario the Butcher.

Bumbling music follows you into the room
Whistling Italian-American joy
All the saints and their parade too

"YEAH, TOMORRAH!"

YOU. ARE. SUCH. A. COOL. GRANDFATHER.

And what a man.
From this generation to yours, the Greatest
Respect!
I love you and I love your style
(Not to mention your Santoro smile)

(genes)

The stories hang from your brass jaw like ribbons
You held out your giant hand and told me to hit it.

Oh I'll hit it alright
I'll give 'em a knuckle sandwich.