The Streets Of New York

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I was eighteen years old when I went down to Dublin
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With a fistful of money and a cartload of dreams.
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"Take your time," said my father, "stop rushing like hell,
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And remember all's not what it seems to be.

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For there's fellas who'd cut you for the coat on your back,
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Or that watch that you got from your mother.
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So take care, my young bucko, and mind yourself well.
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And would you give this wee note to my brother."

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At the time, Uncle Benjy was a policeman in Brooklyn,
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And my father, the youngest, looked after the farm.
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Til a phone call from America said "Send the lad over."
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And my old fella said, "Sure, t'wouldn't do any harm.

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For I've spent my life working this dirty old ground
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For a few pints of porter and the smell of a pound.
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And sure, maybe there's something you'll learn or you'll see,
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And you can bring it back home, make it easier on me."


[Verse 2]

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So, I landed at Kennedy, and a big yellow taxi
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Carried me and my bags through the streets and the rain.
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Well, my poor heart was thumping around with excitement,
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And I hardly even heard what the driver was saying.

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We came in the Shore Parkway through the flatlands in Brooklyn,
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To my uncle's apartment on East 53rd.
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I was feeling so happy, I was humming a song,
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And I sang "You're as free as a bird."

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Well, to shorten the story, what I found out that day
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Was that Benjy got shot down in an uptown foray.
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And while I was flying my way to New York,
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Poor Benjy was lying in a cold city morgue.

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Well, I called up my old fella, told him the news.
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I could tell he could hardly stand up in his shoes.
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And he wept as he told me go ahead with the plan,
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And not to forget, be a proud Irish man.


[Verse 3]

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So, I went up to Nellie's beside Fordham Road,
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And I started to learn about lifting my load.
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But the heaviest thing that I carried that year
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Was the bittersweet thoughts of my hometown so dear.

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I went home that December cause my old fella died.
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I had to borrow the money from a fella on the side.
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And all the bright flowers and brass couldn't hide
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The poor, wasted face of me father.

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I sold up the old farmyard for what it was worth,
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And into my bag stuck a handful of earth.
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Then I boarded a train and I caught me a plane,
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And I found myself back in the U.S. again.

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It's been twenty-two years since I set foot in Dublin.
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My kids know to use the correct knife and fork.
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But I'll never forget the green grass and the rivers,
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As I keep law and order in the streets of New York