Текст песни The Streets of New York (Wolfe Tones) с переводом

I was eighteen years old, when I went down to Dublin

With a fistful of money and a cartload of dreams

«Take your time», said me father «stop rushing like hell

And remember all is not what it seems to be

For there’s fellows would cut you for the coat on your back

Or the watch that you got from your mother

So take care me young buck-o and mind yourself well

And will you give this wee note to me brother»

At the time Uncle Benjy was a policeman in Brooklyn

And me father the youngest looked after the farm

When a phone call from America said 'Send the lad over'

And the ould fella said sure it wouldn’t do any harm

For I spoent my life working this dirty old ground

For a few pints of porter and the smell of a pound

And sure maybe there’s something you’ll learn or you’ll see

And you can bring it back home, make it easy on me

So I landed at Kennedy and a big yellow taxi

Carried me and my bags through the streets and the rain

Well my poor heart was pumping around with excitement

And I hardly even heard what the driver was saying

We came in the short parkway to the flatlands in Brooklyn

To my uncle’s apartment on East 53rd

I was feeling so happy I was humming a song

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 in a downtown foray

And while I was flyng my way to New York

Poor Benjy was lying in a cold city morgue

Well I phoned up the ould fella, told him the news

I could tell he could hardly stand up in his shoes

And he wept as he told me, go ahead with the plan

And not to forget to be a proud Irishman

So I went up to Nelly’s beside Fordham Road

And I started to learn about lifting the load

But the healthiest thing that I carried that year

Was the bitter sweet thoughts of my home town so dear

I went home that December 'cause the old fella died

Had to borrow the money from Phil on the side

And all the bright flowers and grass couldn’t hide

The poor wasted face of my father

I sold up the old farmyard for what it was worth

And into my bag stuck a handful of earth

Then I boarded a train and I caught me a plane

And I found myself back in the U.S. again

It’s been twenty-two years since I set foot in Dublin

The kids know to use the correct knife and fork

But I’ll never forget the green grass and the rivers

As I keep law and order in the streets of New York

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