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Wolfe Tones - The Streets Of New York Lyrics

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  • I was 18yrs old when
  • I went down to Dublin with a fistful
  • Of money and a cartload of dreams
  • "Take your time" said me father
  • Stop rushing like hell and remember all is not what it seems to be
  • For there's fellas that would cut ye for the coat on yer back
  • Or the watch that you got from your mother so take care me old bucko
  • And mind yourself well and will ya give this wee note to me brother
  • At the time Uncle Benjy was a policeman in Brooklyn
  • And me father the youngest, looked after the farm
  • When a phonecall from America said
  • 'Send the lad over'
  • And the oul fella said 'Sure wouldn't do any harm' for I've spent me life working this dirty old ground
  • For a few pints of porter and the smell of a pound
  • And sure maybe there's something you'll learn or you'll see
  • And you can bring it back home make it easy on me
  • So I landed in Kennedy and a big yellow taxi
  • Carried me and me bags through the streets and the rain
  • Well me poor heart was thumpin around with excitement
  • And I hardly even heard what the driver was sayin
  • We came in the Shore Parkway to the faltlands of Brooklyn
  • To me Uncle's apartment on East 53rd
  • I was feeling so happy I was humming a song and I sang "You're as free as a bird"
  • Well to shorten the story what I found out that day was that Benjy got shot down in an uptown foray and while I was flying my way to New York
  • Poor Benjy was lying in a cold city morgue.
  • Well I phoned up the old fella told him the news
  • I could tell he could
  • Hardly stand up in his shoes and he wept as he told me
  • 'Go ahead with the plans
  • And not to forget be a proud Irish man'
  • So I went to Nellies beside Fordham road and i started to learn about lifting the load
  • But the heaviest thing that I carried that year
  • Was the bittersweet thought of my hometown so dear
  • I went home that December 'cause the oul fella died
  • Had to borrow the money from Phil on the side
  • And all the brught flowers and brass couldn't hide
  • The poor wasted face of me father
  • I sold up the oul farmyard for what it was worth and into my bag stuck
  • A handful of earth then I boarded a train and I caught me a plane
  • And I found meself back in the US again
  • It's been 22yrs since
  • I've set foot in Dublin
  • Me kids know to use the correct knife and fork
  • But I'll never forget the green grass and the rivers
  • As I keep law and order in the streets of New York.

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