Lyrics
(Introduce)
I donât want to stand on a stage with a sword.
I went to a pantomime once,I was bored.
Iâm not a poetical sort of a person like you.
When I need a poem,the streets and the gutters will do...
(Part 1)
Thereâs Tommy Flanagan who lights the gas lamps,
a hundred ninety lamps in Phoenix Park alone.
Heâs done it drunk for over fifty seven years,
in Dublin!
And down on Henry Street is Mad John Maher,
old Ramblinâs Johnny with a face like hammered meat,
but Johnnyâs singinâ brings a Dublin man to tears.
I donât know the words to tell you how it feels,
or how to put it in a rhyme,
but if you come with me youâll know,
how the lamps in the park look like God in the dark as they glow,
on the streets of Dublin.
(Part 2)
The dealers hawkinâ and the dockers yellinâ,
the buskers bangin and the ragmen ringinâ bells.
And thereâs Maureen whose door is always open for,
all Dublin!
And Tony Kiely with his racing pigeons.
Itâs like religion how he lives to fly those birds.
He swears they travel for a hundred miles or more.
I donât know the kind of words that you might say,
but I can put it my own way,
and if you come with me youâll know,
that those birds on the wing are a beautiful thing as they blow ,
through the streets of Dublin.
And thereâs music like nothinâ youâve heard,
if you know the right juke-box to play.
There are glasses to raise in the praise of survivinâ the day...
Down where,
Miss Kitty Farrelly is pourinâ whiskey,
and Frankie Donahughe is lightinâ her cigar.
A smoky den where workinâ men donât bring the wife.
Itâs the laughter of fellas with stories to tell,
men who love to get drunk and raise true feckinâ hell!
Ah,you come out with me and youâll see what youâre missinâ in life
on the streets of Dublin.
On the streets of Dublin...
On the streets of Dublin...
On the streets of Dublin...
I donât want to stand on a stage with a sword.
I went to a pantomime once,I was bored.
Iâm not a poetical sort of a person like you.
When I need a poem,the streets and the gutters will do...
(Part 1)
Thereâs Tommy Flanagan who lights the gas lamps,
a hundred ninety lamps in Phoenix Park alone.
Heâs done it drunk for over fifty seven years,
in Dublin!
And down on Henry Street is Mad John Maher,
old Ramblinâs Johnny with a face like hammered meat,
but Johnnyâs singinâ brings a Dublin man to tears.
I donât know the words to tell you how it feels,
or how to put it in a rhyme,
but if you come with me youâll know,
how the lamps in the park look like God in the dark as they glow,
on the streets of Dublin.
(Part 2)
The dealers hawkinâ and the dockers yellinâ,
the buskers bangin and the ragmen ringinâ bells.
And thereâs Maureen whose door is always open for,
all Dublin!
And Tony Kiely with his racing pigeons.
Itâs like religion how he lives to fly those birds.
He swears they travel for a hundred miles or more.
I donât know the kind of words that you might say,
but I can put it my own way,
and if you come with me youâll know,
that those birds on the wing are a beautiful thing as they blow ,
through the streets of Dublin.
And thereâs music like nothinâ youâve heard,
if you know the right juke-box to play.
There are glasses to raise in the praise of survivinâ the day...
Down where,
Miss Kitty Farrelly is pourinâ whiskey,
and Frankie Donahughe is lightinâ her cigar.
A smoky den where workinâ men donât bring the wife.
Itâs the laughter of fellas with stories to tell,
men who love to get drunk and raise true feckinâ hell!
Ah,you come out with me and youâll see what youâre missinâ in life
on the streets of Dublin.
On the streets of Dublin...
On the streets of Dublin...
On the streets of Dublin...