|
|
 |
|
|
 |
 |
 |
|
I should have been a north London boy an Irishman that’s well hardI’d make me way from pub to pub along the Holloway BoulevardAnd every Saturday afternoon an Arsenal supporter But the biggest thrill of all I got was Mrs Mac Neil’s daughter Somewhere close to Finsbury Park in 1963 – there’s forty children in the class and then there’s me And almost every playtime I could see the danger – there’s forty sons of Erin – and about one Saxon strangerI wish my dad left Dublin and came over insteadI wish my family’d caught a train leaving HolyheadI’m glad my Dad never had to hear my mother cryWhen they knocked upon another door ‘no Irish need apply’ I wasn’t much political I never was a FenianThe Knights of St Columba and later the CateniansAnd sometimes on a Saturday I might have had a session And once in every blue moon I’d make it to confessionI wish my Dad had had a job in the building tradeI wish that I had followed him ‘cos now I’d have it madeI’d have joined the Allied Irish Bank working in New YorkOr been a self made millionaire living in Southgate Broad walk I wish had been Irish before it could be cool Sharper than a razor when they thought I was a foolI wish my dad had owned a pub out in County ClareAnd now I was the London man with the stocks and sharesLong before Riverdance and long before the stoutLong before Father Ted when Irishmen were outLong before the ‘Doctors and the bloody plastic pubOn Paddys night with the Shamrock ShowbandDancing at the club I can see old Mrs Mac’ in the Mother’s UnionI can see Maureen at our first communionLooking like an angel in her little veil of whiteBut ten years later Maureen wore her jeans so tightMaureen was my first love from the first time that I saw herI loved her then I’d marry her for richer or for poorerBut Maureen wouldn’t look my way though I gave my heart up for herShe was looking for a lad from the Irish Diaspora
|
 |
|
|
|
|