I wander thro’ each barter’d street
Where the charter’d Simpsons does flow
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of Homer, marks of d’oh

In every cry of every Moe,
In every Homer’s cry of beer,
In every voice: in every ban
The marge-forg’d milhouses I hear

How the Chalmers-sweepers cry
Every blackning Roast appalls, 
And the hapless Skinners sigh
Runs in blood down Kwik-e-Mart walls

But most thro’ morning streets I hear
How the youthful Krusty’s curse
Blasts the new-born Maggie’s tear 
And blights with plagues the Marge hearse