Irish Song Lyrics 
from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
STREETS OF NEW YORK, THE 
I was eighteen years 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 fellows would cut you for the coat on your back Or the watch that you got from your mother So take care me young buck-o and mind yourself well And will you 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 phone call from America said 'Send the lad over' And the ould fella said sure it wouldn't do any harm For I spoent my 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 at Kennedy and a big yellow taxi Carried me and my bags through the streets and the rain Well my poor heart was pumping around with excitement And I hardly even heard what the driver was saying We came in the short parkway to the flatlands in Brooklyn To my 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 in a downtown foray And while I was flyng my way to New York Poor Benjy was lying in a cold city morgue Well I phoned up the ould 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 to be a proud Irishman 
So I went up to Nelly's beside Fordham Road And I started to learn about lifting the load But the healthiest thing that I carried that year Was the bitter sweet thoughts of my home town so dear I went home that December 'cause the old fella died Had to borrow the money from Phil on the side And all the bright flowers and grass couldn't hide The poor wasted face of my father 
I sold up the old 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 myself back in the U.S. again It's been twenty-two years since I set foot in Dublin The 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