Here's my stab:

I've got a book of photographs from old sing-sing
They used to say 'upstate,' and that's what they mean
It's such a pretty name for such an awful place
At every page I'm looking at another blank face
And you know they had to find a way to pass time
And that's what I've been doing for a while now, baby
I been marking each day with a write on the wall
And waiting by the telephone to take that call

And they try to change my mind but find it's useless
Know too well the history of excuses

Look how(?) they cling to their political machine
That can jingle their coffers like old boss tweed
And they jiggle their handles and juggle the books
As their hatchet (something) and buttons the hook
And you know, I wish I could change it with a vote
But I never found myself on the right side of the polls
I've got a dream where I'm out in the ocean
Where there's mountains and trees and the smell of the ocean

And they try to change my mind but find it's useless
Know too well the history of excuses

*solo*

Someone else finish it.