I[G] was eighteen years[Am] old when I[G] went down to [C]Dublin,
With a[G] fist full of[Em] money and a[Am] cart load of [D]dreams,
Take you[G]r time said me[Am] father stop[G] rushing like[C] hell,
And re[G]member all is[Em] not what i[D7]t seems to[G] be,
For there's[D] fellas would[Em] cut you for the[C] coat on your[G] back,
Or the[C] watch that you[Em] got from your[D] mother,
So take[G] care me young[Am] buck-o and[G] mind yoursel[C]f well,
And will you[G] give this wee[D7] note to me[G] brother.
At the[D] time uncle Benje was a[C] police-man in [G]Brooklyn,
And me[D] father the youngest looked[C] after the[D] farm,
When a[G] phone call from A[Am]merica said[G] send the lad[C] over,
And the[G] ould fella[Em] said it would'nt[D] do any[G] harm.
For I[C] spent me life[D] working this[G] dirty old ground,
For a[C] few pints of por[D]ter and the[G] smell of a pound,
And ma[G]ybe there's[Am] something you will[G] learn or[C] see,
And you can[G] bring it back[Em] home make it[D] easy on[G] me.
So I landed at Kennedy and a big yellow taxi,
Carried me and me bags through the streets and the rain,
Well me poor heart was thumping around with excitement,
And I hardly even heard what the driver was saying.
We came in the short parkway to the flat lands of Brooklyn,
To me uncle's apartment on east 53rd,
I was feeling so happy I was humming a song,
And I sang ''Your 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 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,be a proud Irishman.
So I went off to Nellys beside Fordham Road,
And I started to learn about lifting the load,
But the heaviest thing that I carried thad year,
Was the bitter sweet thought of my home town so dear,
I went home that December cause the ould fella died,
Had to borrow the money fro Phil on the site,
And all the bright flowers and brass could'nt hide,
The poor wasted face of me father.
I sold up the old farmyard for what it was worth,
And into me bag stuck a hand full of earth,
Then I boarded a train and I cought 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 ion the streets of New York
