| Last night as I slept
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| I dreamt I met with Behan
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| I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
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| When questioned on his views
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| On the crux of life’s philosophies
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| He had but these few clear and simple words to say
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| I am going, I am going
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| Any which way the wind may be blowing
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| I am going, I am going
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| Where streams of whiskey are flowing
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| I have cursed, bled and sworn
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| Jumped bail and landed up in jail
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| Life has often tried to stretch me
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| But the rope always went slack
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| And now that I’ve a pile
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| I’ll go down to the Chelsea
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| I’ll walk in on my feet
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| But I’ll leave there on my back
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| Because I’m going, I am going
|
| Any which way the wind may be blowing
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| I am going, I am going
|
| Where streams of whiskey are flowing (yeah!)
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| Oh the words that he spoke
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| Seemed the wisest of philosophies
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| There’s nothing ever gained
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| By a wet thing called a tear
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| When the world is too dark
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| And I need the light inside of me
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| I’ll walk into a bar
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| And drink fifteen pints of beer
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| Because I’m going, I am going
|
| Any which way the wind may be blowing
|
| I am going, I am going
|
| Where streams of whiskey are flowing
|
| I am going, I am going
|
| Any which way the wind may be blowing
|
| I am going, I am going
|
| Where streams of whiskey are flowing
|
| Where streams of whiskey are flowing
|
| Where streams of whiskey are flowing |