Streets of New York

Streets of New York - The Wolfe Tones

Written by：Wolfe Tones

I was eighteen years old

When I went down to Dublin

With a fist full of money

And a cartload of dreams

Take your time said my father

Stop rushing like hell

And remember all's not

What it seems to be

For there's fellas who'd cut you

For the coat on your back

Or that watch that you got from your mother

So take care my young Buck

And mind yourself well

Would you give this wee note to my brother

At the time uncle bendy was a policeman in Brooklyn

And my father the youngest

Looked after the farm

Til a phone call from

America said send the lad over

And my old fella said

Sure wouldn't do any harm

For I've spent my life working this dirty old ground

For a few pints of porter

And the smell of a pound

Sure maybe there's something

You'll learn or you'll see

And you can bring it back home

Make it easier on me

So I landed at Kennedy

And a big yellow taxi

Carried me and my bags

Through the streets and the rain

Well my poor heart was thumping

Around with excitement

And I hardly even heard

What the driver was saying

We came in the shore parkway

Through the flat lands in Brooklyn

To my uncle's apartment on east 53 rd

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 bendy got shot

Down in an uptown foray

And while I was flying my way to new York

Poor bendy was lying in a cold city morgue

Well I called up my 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 plan

And not to forget be a proud Irish man

So I went up to Nellie's beside ford ham road

And I started to learn about lifting my load

But the heaviest thing

That I carried that year

Was the bittersweet thoughts of

My hometown so dear

I went home that December cause my old fella died

I had to borrow the money

From a fella on the side

And all the bright flowers and brass couldn't hide

The poor wasted face of my father

I sold off the old far yard 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 myself back in the u s again

It's been twenty two years since I set foot in Dublin

My 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