(Verse 1) January morn, nineteen-nineteen's start, Boston's North End, a bustling heart. By Commercial Street, a monstrous sight, A giant tank of molasses, dark as night. Two million gallons, thick and deep, While workers hurried, and children slept, No warning whispered, no ominous sound, Just daily life on solid ground. (Chorus) Then a rumble, a roar, a mighty crack, No turning 'round, no going back! A twenty-foot tsunami, brown and grand, The sticky tide devoured the land. Through cobblestone alleys, houses torn, A sugary flood, tragically born. Boston's sweet disaster, fast and wide, Trapped in that viscous, deadly tide. (Verse 2) Horses stumbled, carts upturned, Twenty-one futures suddenly burned. Men and women, children too, Caught in the surge, what could they do? Buildings shattered, timber split, A gooey ruin, where hope had sit. And for decades, folks would say, You could still smell molasses to this day.
