This mountain

Well I never go visit my mother
Like my father and my brother do
I can't stand the constant traffic
On Belmont Avenue
And the pious old men in their coats and beards
Who appear as if on cue
For a small donation
They'll say the mourner's prayer for you
Some might say I've got a heart of stone
But I think if that were true
I'd get along better
With the dead than I do
Well I never go visit my mother
Like my father and my brother do
I can't stand the constant traffic
On Belmont Avenue