Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Streets of New York, artist - The Wolfe Tones. Album song The Anthology of Irish Song, in the genre Кельтская музыка
Date of issue: 25.07.2013
Record label: Celtic Collections
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 is not what it seems to be |
For there’s fellas that would cut ye for the coat on yer back |
Or the watch that you got from your mother so take care me old 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 phonecall 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 to the faltlands 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 |
And not to forget be a proud Irish man' |
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 the money from Phil on the side |
And all the brught flowers and brass couldn’t hide |
The poor wasted face of me father |
I sold up the oul farmyard for what it was worth and into my bag stuck |
A handful of earth then I boarded a train and I caught me a plane |
And I found meself 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 in the streets of New York. |