Out here on the street, fretting about on my feet,
The night ain’t too cold, and the city still awake;
Like a stranger, on the sidewalks of O’Ferrel street, 
Waiting for Starbucks to open, here I stand;
A guy comes up to me, looking for something to eat,
Offers me a diamond ring, which sure is a fake;
Asked me if I smoked weed, which I don’t need,
I gave him spare change, of which all I had;
A dozen different guys, young, old, poor and in need,
Some of them for a fix, asking for something to take;
I better write a song, about this California street,
And sing it in the Union Square, after daybreak.