The Streets Of New York

Wolfe Tones


writers: Liam Reilly
release date:
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I was eighteen years old
With a fistfull of money
Take your time
Stop rushing like hell,
What it seems to be,
For the coat on yer back,
From yer mother,
And mind yourself well,
To me brother.
At the time Uncle Benjy
And me father the youngest
When a phonecall from America
Well the old fella said
For I spent me life working
For a few pints of porter
And sure maybe there's something
And you can bring it back home,

And a big yellow taxi
Through the streets and the rain,
Around with excitement,
What the driver was saying,
To the Flatlands of Brooklyn,
On East 53rd,
I was hummin' a song,
You're as free as a bird'.
Well to shorten the story
Was that Benjy got shot down
And while I was flyin'
Poor Benjy was lying
Well I phoned up the old fella
I could tell he could hardly
And he wept as he said
And not to forget

Beside Fordham Road,
About lifting the load,
I carried that year,
Of my hometown so dear,
'Cause the old fella died,
From a Phil on the side,
And brass couldn't hide,
Of me father.
I sold up the old farmyard
And into me bag
Then I boarded a train
And I found myself back
Its been twenty two years
Me kids know to use
But I never will forget
As I keep law and order


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