This is near perfect:
This morning on the harbour
When I said goodbye to you
I remember how I swore
That Iād come back to you one day
And as the sunset came to meet
The evening on the hill
I told you Iād always love you
I always did anā I always will
The runt of no craic
One of Phil Chevrons is up there
Thousands are Sailing
The island it is silent now
But the ghosts still haunt the waves
And the torch lights up a famished man
Who fortune could not save
Did you work upon the railroad
Did you rid the streets of crime
Were your dollars from the white house
Were they from the five and dime
Did the old songs taunt or cheer you
And did they still make you cry
Did you count the months and years
Or did your teardrops quickly dry
Ah, no, says he, 'twas not to be
On a coffin ship I came here
And I never even got so far
That they could change my name
Thousands are sailing
Across the western ocean
To a land of opportunity
That some of them will never see
Fortune prevailing
Across the western ocean
Their bellies full
Their spirits free
Theyāll break the chains of poverty
And theyāll dance
In Manhattanās desert twilight
In the death of afternoon
We stepped hand in hand on broadway
Like the first man on the moon
And āthe blackbirdā broke the silence
As you whistled it so sweet
And in Brendan Behanās footsteps
I danced up and down the street
Then we said goodnight to broadway
Giving it our best regards
Tipped our hats to mister Cohen
Dear old times squareās favorite bard
Then we raised a glass to JFK
And a dozen more besides
When I got back to my empty room
I suppose I must have cried
Thousands are sailing
Again across the ocean
Where the hand of opportunity
Draws tickets in a lottery
Postcards weāre mailing
Of sky-blue skies and oceans
From rooms the daylight never sees
Where lights donāt glow on Christmas trees
But we dance to the music
And we dance
Thousands are sailing
Across the western ocean
Where the hand of opportunity
Draws tickets in a lottery
Where eāer we go, we celebrate
The land that makes us refugees
From fear of priests with empty plates
From guilt and weeping effigies
And we dance
āThe Body Of An Americanā
The cadillac stood by the house
And the Yanks they were within
And the tinker boys they hissed advice
āHot-wire her with a pinā
Then we turned and shook as we had a look
In the room where the dead man lay
So big Jim Dwyer made his last trip
To the shores where his fatherās laid
But fifteen minutes later
We had our first taste of whiskey
There was uncles giving lectures
On ancient Irish history
The men all started telling jokes
And the women they got frisky
At five oāclock in the evening
Every bastard there was pissed
And fare thee well going away
Thereās nothing left to say
Farewell to New York City boys
To Boston and PA
He took them out
With a well-aimed clout
He was often heard to say
Iām a free born man of the USA
He fought the champ in Pittsburgh
And he slashed him to the ground
He took on Tiny Tartanella
And it only went one round
He never had no time for reds
For drink or dice or whores
And he never threw a fight
Unless the fight was right
So they sent him to the war
Fare the well gone away
Thereās nothing left to say
With a slainte Joe and Erin go
My loveās in Amerikay
The calling of the rosary
Spanish wine from far away
Iām a free born man of the USA
This morning on the harbour
When I said goodbye to you
I remember how I swore
That Iād come back to you one day
And as the sunset came to meet
The evening on the hill
I told you Iād always love you
I always did anā I always will
Fare thee well gone away
Thereās nothing left to say
'cept to say adieu
To your eyes as blue
As the water in the bay
And to big Jim Dwyer
The man of wire
Who was often heard to say
Iām a free born man of the USA
As an aside , Shinrone is in Offaly and Joe McKenna is a native .
Sickbed of Cuchulainn is a paean to @Tassotti
When you pissed yourself in Frankfurt and got syph down in Cologne
And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone
Frank Ryan brought you whiskey in a brothel in Madrid
And you decked some fucking blackshirt who was curing all the Yids
And in the Euston Tavern you screamed it was your shout
But they wouldnāt give you service so you kicked the windows out
They took you out into the street and kicked you in the brains
So you walked back in through a bolted door and did it all again
You remember that foul evening when you heard the banshees howl
There was lousy drunken bastards singing Billy is in the bowl
They took you up to midnight mass and left you in the lurch
So you dropped a button in the plate and spewed up in the church
Now youāll sing a song of liberty for blacks and paks and jocks
And theyāll take you from this dump youāre in and stick you in a box
Then theyāll take you to Cloughprior and shove you in the ground
But youāll stick your head back out and shout āweāll have another roundā
The Old Main Drag has some poignant shades of Tassotti to it too.
The Old Main Drag"
When I first came to London I was only sixteen
With a fiver in my pocket and my ole dancing bag
I went down to the dilly to check out the scene
And I soon ended up on the old main drag
There the he-males and the she-males paraded in style
And the old man with the money would flash you a smile
In the dark of an alley youād work for a fiver
For a swift one off the wrist down on the old main drag
In the cold winter nights the old town it was chill
But there were boys in the cafes whoād give you cheap pills
If you didnāt have the money youād cajole or youād beg
There was always lots of tuinol on the old main drag
One evening as I was lying down by Leicester Square
I was picked up by the coppers and kicked in the balls
Between the metal doors at Vine Street I was beaten and mauled
And they ruined my good looks for the old main drag
In the tube station the old ones who were on the way out
Would dribble and vomit and grovel and shout
And the coppers would come along and push them about
And I wished I could escape from the old main drag
And now Iām lying here Iāve had too much booze
Iāve been shat on and spat on and raped and abused
I know that I am dying and I wish I could beg
For some money to take me from the old main drag
Death notice of Christine Ryan mother of the late Philip Chevron in the paper today.
Has any band ever had as many good songs as the Pogues?
Thousands are Sailing for me
Agree. Thousands are sailing is incredible
Late Late tribute to them next Friday night. Ryan is up for that one big-time.
Hard to watch McGowan at this stage, could be a fair car crash with some lovely moments throw in.
Streams of Whiskey for me
Misty Morning Albert Bridge
+1
Honourable shout out to Sally Maclennane also
](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2M7snEx1zs)
https://www.youtube.com āŗ watch
Lyrics
On the first day of March it was raining
It was raining worse than anything that I have ever seen
I drank ten pints of beer and I cursed all the people there
And I wish that all this raining would stop falling down on me
And itās lend me ten pounds, Iāll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning
At the time I was working for a landlord
And he was the meanest bastard that you have ever seen
And to lose a single penny would grieve him awful sore
And he was a miserable bollocks and a bitchās bastardās whore
And itās lend me ten pounds, Iāll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning
I recall we took care of him one Sunday
We got him out the back and we broke his fucking balls
And maybe that was dreaming and maybe that was real
But all I know is I left that place without a penny or fuck all
And itās lend me ten pounds, Iāll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning
But now Iāve the most charming of verandahs
I sit and watch the junkies, the drunks, the pimps, the whores
Five green bottles sitting on the floor
I wish to Christ, I wish to Christ
That I had fifteen more
And itās lend me ten pounds, Iāll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning
And itās lend me ten pounds, Iāll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning
The boys and me are drunk and looking for you
Weāll eat your frigging entrails and we wonāt give a damn
Me daddy was a blue shirt and my mother a madam
And my brother earned his medals at Mai Lei in Vietnam
And itās lend me ten pounds and Iāll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning
On the first day of March it was raining
It was raining worse than anything that I have ever seen
Stay on the other side of the road
'Cause you can never tell
Weāve a thirst like a gang of devils
Weāre the boys of the county hell
And itās lend me ten pounds and Iāll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning
And itās lend me ten pounds and Iāll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning
The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn