Was a policeman in Brooklyn
And me father the youngest
When a phonecall from America
'Sure it wouldn't do any harm'
For I spent me life working
For a few pints of porter
And the the smell of a pound
And sure maybe there's something
And you can bring it back home
Through the streets and the rain
Well me poor heart was thumpin'
What the driver was saying
We came in the Shore Parkway
To the Flatlands in Brooklyn
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 down
Well I phoned up the old fella
I could tell he could hardly
And he wept as he told me
Was the bittersweet thoughts
I went home that Decem ber
'Cause the old fella died
From a fellow on the side
And all the bright flowers
The poor wasted face of me father
I sold up the old farmyard
And I found myself back In the US again
Its been twenty two years
Since I set foot in Dublin
The correct knife and fork
The green grass and the rivers
On the streets of New York
