Look at your strike leader
Now back to me
Now back to your strike leader
Now back to me.
Sadly, he isn’t me. But if he left Manhattan and came over to Brooklyn, he could sell like he’s me.
Look down. Back up. Where are you? You’re on a dock with the strike leader your strike leader could sell like.
What’s in your hand? Back up. I’ve got it. It’s a New York Sun with my face on the front page.
Look again. The newspaper is now a pimp cane.
Anything is possible when your strike leader is Spot Conlon and not Jack Kelly.
I’m on a zip line.
DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO BROOKLYN
In 1899, the streets of New York City echoed with the voices of newsies, peddling the newspapers of Joseph Pulitzer, William Randolph Hearst and other giants of the newspaper world. On every corner you saw ‘em carryin’ the banner, bringin’ you the news for a penny a pape. Poor orphans and runaways, the newsies were a ragged army without a leader until, one day, all that changed…
-So what do you say, Spot?
-I say, that what you say, is what I say.
Why is Snoddy running face first into the wall?
I gotta find me a new sellin’ spot where they ain’t used to seein’ me.
Reason #10: The moral of Newsies: don’t take anything lying down. Don’t give up. Don’t give in. Form a union. Go on strike. Kick some ass — even if the deck is rigged.