The Yards was what the world called me.
Where Chicago did meet the meat,
Packed in over a century,
Butchered for all the world to eat.
The Chicago River did pump
Half a million gallons per day.
Loads of beast decay I did dump.
I did smell bad from long away.
Sinclair's 'The Jungle' gave me shame.
Sinatra's 'My Kind of Town' sang.
Sandburg's 'Chicago' gave me fame.
Tourists came to me, just to hang.
I was torn down in progress fate.
All that remains is my main gate.