San Francisco is a mad city - inhabited for the most part by perfectly insane people whose women are of remarkable beauty

San Francisco is a mad city - inhabited for the most part by perfectly insane people whose women are of a remarkable beauty.

We ain't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too, But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints, Why single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints

When you're left wounded on Afganistan's plains and the women come out to cut up what remains, Just roll to your rifle and blow out your brains, And go to your God like a soldier

All good people agree,
And all good people say,
All nice people, like Us, are We
And every one else is They:
But if you cross over the sea,
Instead of over the way,
You may end by (think of it!) looking on We
As only a sort of They!

Four things greater than all things are, - Women and Horses and Power and War