| Down across from the Cresswell Hotel |
| Harry sits there polishing his bells and dinky toys |
| Oh, Harry and the boys |
| On slow Sunday afternoons |
| One could hear a tune rise from the alley way |
| As the church goers spilled out on the steps |
| And say, «Must be Harry and the boys |
| Still going strong from Saturday» |
| Now, it seemed like Harry went to Heaven |
| Oh, the people got smiles on their face |
| Where they can’t be replayed any other way |
| Birds sing, cows 'low |
| 'Cause wind stirs it up, you know |
| Some folks do well pushing numbers |
| Some folks do well playing a tune |
| Echoes of yesterday, rising to the clouds they say |
| Falling on innocent ears recalling wilder years |
| still cooking |
| But nobody comes in to start a soup |
| And speeches too |
| Some folks try and sing out Harry’s tune |
| Oh but it’s still his tune, how do you get there? |
| Well, it seems like Harry went to Heaven |