You've had your fun now go home we're tired . . . .
WHAT are you still doing here Go somewhere else and
build a McDonald's We're going to tear all this ugly mess
down now We revoke your immigration papers
your assimilation soap suds your stories are no good . . .
Go so far away we won't remember you ever came here
Take these words back with you 

Who would have guessed that the end
of those voyages, the agony of steerage,
insults from the Yankees, the tenement rooms
without windows, like fish cans,
the penny pinching and fear of the bosses
would end this way, as well-dressed citizens
devoted to the disinfection of our carpets . . . .