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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Bruce Springsteen
Guitar
Roy Bittan
Piano
Clarence Clemons
Tenor Saxophone
Nils Lofgren
Guitar
Garry Tallent
Bass
Max Weinberg
Drums
Tom Morello
Guitar
Atlanta Strings
Strings
Ed Horst
String Conductor
Justin Bruns
Violin
Jay Christy
Violin
Sheela Iyengar
Violin
John Meisner
Violin
Christopher Pulgram
Violin
William Pu
Violin
Olga Shpitko
Violin
Kenn Wagner
Violin
Amy Chang
Viola
Tania Maxwell
Viola
Lachlan McBane
Viola
Karen Freer
Cello
Charae Krueger
Cello
Daniel Laufer
Cello
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Bruce Springsteen
Songwriter
Ed Horst
String Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Bruce Springsteen
Producer
Brendan O'Brien
Producer
Nick DiDia
Recording Engineer
Tom Tapley
Assistant Engineer
Billy Powers
Engineer
Ron Aniello
Producer
Ross Petersen
Recording Engineer
Rob Lebret
Recording Engineer
Chris Lord-Alge
Mixing Engineer
Nik Karpen
Assistant Engineer
Keith Armstrong
Assistant Engineer
Brad Townsend
Assistant Engineer
Andrew Schubert
Assistant Engineer
Bob Ludwig
Mastering Engineer
Zach Russo
Additional Producer
Kevin Mills
Recording Engineer
Lyrics
Downtown hipsters drinking up the drug line
Down in the kitchen working in the coal mine
Got a special sin, mister, you can't quite confess
Messy little problem, maybe baby need a new dress
Razorback diamond, you shine too hard
Need a hammer help you handle little trouble in your backyard
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
When Harry speaks, it's Harry's streets
In Harry's house, it's Harry's rules
You don't wanna be around, brother, when Harry schools
It's Harry's car, Harry's wife, Harry's dogs run Harry's town
Your blood and money spit shines Harry's crown
You don't fuck with Harry's money, you don't fuck Harry's girls
These are the rules, this is the world
You bring it on down to Harry's Place
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
You need a little shot of something to improve your health
A taste of that one little weakness you allow yourself
You're looking for the key of that box you locked yourself in
Just step up to the line and be one of Harry's friends
Shithole on the corner, no light, no sign
Nobody on the street 'cept the deaf, dumb and blind
Now Connor's on the couch, Father McGowan's at the bar
Chief Horton's at the door checking who the fuck you are
Seesaw Bobby dressed in drag and Mr. Nice
Carry me into the back room and dim the lights
My arms strapped to the table
A thousand angels spinning up the room
A voice whispers in my ear, "We do what we must do"
When we bring it on down to Harry's Place
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
Nobody knows his number, nobody knows his name
If he didn't exist, it'd all go on just the same
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
Bring it on down to Harry's Place
Writer(s): Bruce Springsteen
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