| I’ve seen street corner preachers spending' discharge pay
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| Between periods of gettin' stiff
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| And happy tipplers singing' songs of discontentment
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| With each and every passion' sip
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| From the bookmaker’s clerk on the rowdy racing' circuit
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| Known as Tom Sharkey’s brawling' bar
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| To the tenders at the pubs through the illegal sporting clubs
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| In this town, I call my home
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| You see, I come from a family who more or less traditionally
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| Sends it’s boys off to serve Uncle Sam
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| «Obey your orders and protect your country», said this father to his
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| Disheartened son
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| You see, I’ve traveled overseas, seen forks in the road from Raven to the Pubs
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| near Cunard Pier
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| But the things weren’t the same, at the place where I became
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| A man in this town, I call my home
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| I’m goin' home
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| I’ve seen street corner preachers, spending' discharge pay
|
| Between periods of gettin' stiff
|
| And happy tipplers singing' songs of discontentment
|
| With each and every passion' sip
|
| From the bookmaker’s clerk on the rowdy racing' circuit
|
| Known as Tom Sharkey’s brawling' bar
|
| To the tenders at the pubs and illegal sporting clubs
|
| In this town I call my home
|
| To the tenders at the pubs and illegal sporting clubs
|
| In this town I call my home |