Good Old Days

Won't you meet me down, down by Barrack Street Where the sailors all come in to greet their families I heard an auld one speak of the emergency Hiding coal under a baby in its pram That's where my mother's mother Was raised on bread and butter Mapping those streets in the creases of her palm Father converged on the bars and prepared For the coming of the glimmer man We won't shed no tears for the good old days But for talk's sake, we can mourn them in a song And the truth be told, they're what made us up I say god bless you And bless all who belong to thee Won't you meet me down by the pork factory houses Where the bicycles are all traveling in unison Where the latch is forever left on every door Keep your eyes peeled for the peelers in the dark We had love, not money And to those that stung me I would greet them all with the tipping of my cap So, let's escape and go to a picture show In the picture house where the navies and the banshees roam