The tune is real faint
Maybe ten blocks away
Its summer again
For John P. Conway

Its now getting nearer
Five or six streets
Thanks to the Conways
From the town of Runnemede

The truck is now stopped
But the engine still hums
Its mixed with the music
In the warm summer sun

What they are selling
Comes from factory made powder
The children all gather
As the music gets louder

I smell engine oil
And rubber and gas
I step up in line
I hand coins through glass

The truck is now gone
The tune is now fleeting
I loathe the Conways
Who live in Runnemede

Being young is terrific
Being younger is bleaker
It is quite depressing
The sounds from that speaker

Its tinny and flat
And different when near
**** John Conway
And the town of Runnemede.