| I knew Danny Farrell when his football was a can
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| With his hand-me-downs and Welliers and his sandwiches
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| Of bran
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| But now that pavement peasant is a full grown bitter
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| Man
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| With all the trials and troubles of his travelling
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| People’s clan
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| He’s a loser, a boozer, a me and you user
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| A raider, a trader, a people police hater
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| So lonely and only, what you’d call a gurrier
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| Still now, Danny Farrell, he’s a man
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| I knew Danny Farrell when he joined the National School
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| He was lousy at the Gaelic, they’d call him amadn — a
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| Fool
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| He was brilliant in the toss school by trading objects
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| In the pawn
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| By the time he was an adult all his charming ways had
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| Gone
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| I knew Danny Farrell when we queued up for the dole
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| And he tried to hide the loss of pride that eats away
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| The soul
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| But mending pots and kettles is a trade lost in the
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| Past
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| «There's no hand-out here for tinkers» was the answer
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| When he asked
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| He’s a loser, a boozer, a me and you user
|
| A raider, a trader, a people police hater
|
| So lonely and only, what you’d call a gurrier
|
| Still now, Danny Farrell, he’s a man
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| I still know Danny Farrell, saw him just there
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| Yesterday
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| Taking methylated spirits with some wino’s on the quay
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| Oh, he’s forty going on eighty, with his eyes of hope
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| Bereft
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| And he told me this for certain, there’s not many of us
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| Left
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| He’s a loser, a boozer, a me and you user
|
| A raider, a trader, a people police hater
|
| So lonely and only, what you’d call a gurrier
|
| Still now, Danny Farrell, he’s a man |