Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Streets Of New York, artist - Celtic Thunder.
Date of issue: 11.08.2016
Song language: English
Streets Of New York |
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’s not what it seems to be |
For there’s fellas would cut ye for the coat on yer back |
Or the watch that you got from your mother |
So take care me young 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 phone-call 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 through the flatlands 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 |
Never forget be a proud Irishman |
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 some money from Phil on the side |
And all the bright flowers and brass couldn’t hide |
The poor wasted face of my father |
I sold up the oul' farmyard for what it was worth |
And into my bag stuck a handful of earth |
Then I caught me a train and I boarded a plane |
And I found myself 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 on the streets of New York. |