[D]By the banks of the [G]still water ca[D]nal
A young boy [Em]listened and gazed in [A]awe
the [D]sound and a[G]ppearance
of mus[D]icians
The [A]jigs the reels the [G]ballads and the [D]crack
'Twas in Dublin [G]town he was en[D]chanted
By
the buskers who [Em]played on the [A]street
At the [D]age of six[G]teen he chose the [D]road
A [A]buskers life of [G]freedom
to live his [D]dreams
Chorus:
[A]Paddy ''Bones'' Sweeney was a [G]ramblin' [A]man
With a [D]heart that had [G]yearned to be [D]free
[A]Paddy
''Bones'' Sweeneys [G]music lives [A]on
Still [D]echoes every[G]where he once [D]played
An old bicycle was his first transport
By nights he slept in a wattle tent
Then in later years a horse drawn
caravan
Was his home on the roads he loved to roam
With harmonica and a pair a bones
He entertained to his hearts content
The people who would generously contribute
To
a busker they could tell knew his trade
Well 'tis many years since I first met him
An agein' man younger than his years
We spent the day engrossed
in playin' music
While lashin' back pints of stout in old McDaids
There he told me he'd settled in Dublin
How life on the road became to hard
And with saddened heart he spoke
of the changes
How tradition would soon be forgotten
He remembered well the cross roads dancin'
How the people would all gather there
And the drovers and the dealers
at the fairs
Where he enjoyed the buskin' most of all
Other times he'd talk about the old ones
Banjo Harry, Mick The Whistle, The Blind Mice
How they'd all meet up at fairs or race meetin's
With Margret
Barry and play mighty tunes
The last time I met him he was eager
To hit the road one last time I guessed
I wished him the best of luck as we parted
Now I hope his ramblin'
spirit has found rest.
