The Streets Of New York lyrics and chords
written by Liam Reilly. Liam has written lots of brilliant songs including ,Second Violin Summer in Dublin,Trump Card,Love is the Reason and many more. I'm fairly sure I have all the Wolfe Tones songs now. Tommy Byrne and The Wolfe Tones play this in the key of Bb. Also recorded by Mike Denver, Celtic Thunder and The High Kings. Also recorded in 2018 by Ryan McMullan. . Back to The Wolfe Tones Songs
The Streets of New York is a well-known Irish ballad by The Wolfe Tones. The song tells the emotional story of an Irish immigrant’s
The link below is for the 5 string banjo tab in Open G tuning.
The Streets of New York is a well-known Irish ballad by The Wolfe Tones. The song tells the emotional story of an Irish immigrant’s
The link below is for the 5 string banjo tab in Open G tuning.
I[G] was eighteen years[Am] old when I[G] went down to [C]Dublin,
With a[G] fist full of[Em] money and a[Am] cart load of [D]dreams,
Take you[G]r time said me[Am] father stop[G] rushing like[C] hell,
And re[G]member all is[Em] not what i[D7]t seems to[G] be,
For there's[D] fellas would[Em] cut you for the[C] coat on your[G] back,
Or the[C] watch that you[Em] got from your[D] mother,
So take[G] care me young[Am] buck-o and[G] mind yoursel[C]f well,
And will you[G] give this wee[D7] note to me[G] brother.
At the[D] time uncle Benje was a[C] police-man in [G]Brooklyn,
And me[D] father the youngest looked[C] after the[D] farm,
When a[G] phone call from A[Am]merica said[G] send the lad[C] over,
And the[G] ould fella[Em] said it would'nt[D] do any[G] harm.
For I[C] spent me life[D] working this[G] dirty old ground,
For a[C] few pints of por[D]ter and the[G] smell of a pound,
And ma[G]ybe there's[Am] something you will[G] learn or[C] see,
And you can[G] bring it back[Em] home make it[D] easy on[G] me.
So I landed at Kennedy and a big yellow taxi,
Carried me and me bags through the streets and the rain,
Well me poor heart was thumping around with excitement,
And I hardly even heard what the driver was saying.
We came in the short parkway to the flat lands of Brooklyn,
To me uncle's apartment on east 53rd,
I was feeling so happy I was humming a song,
And I sang ''Your as free as a bird''
Well to shorten the story what I found out that day,
Was that Benjy got shot down in an uptown foray,
And while I was flying 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,be a proud Irishman.
So I went off to Nellys beside Fordham Road,
And I started to learn about lifting the load,
But the heaviest thing that I carried thad year,
Was the bitter sweet thought of my home town so dear,
I went home that December cause the ould fella died,
Had to borrow the money fro Phil on the site,
And all the bright flowers and brass could'nt hide,
The poor wasted face of me father.
I sold up the old farmyard for what it was worth,
And into me bag stuck a hand full of earth,
Then I boarded a train and I cought 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 ion the streets of New York
With a[G] fist full of[Em] money and a[Am] cart load of [D]dreams,
Take you[G]r time said me[Am] father stop[G] rushing like[C] hell,
And re[G]member all is[Em] not what i[D7]t seems to[G] be,
For there's[D] fellas would[Em] cut you for the[C] coat on your[G] back,
Or the[C] watch that you[Em] got from your[D] mother,
So take[G] care me young[Am] buck-o and[G] mind yoursel[C]f well,
And will you[G] give this wee[D7] note to me[G] brother.
At the[D] time uncle Benje was a[C] police-man in [G]Brooklyn,
And me[D] father the youngest looked[C] after the[D] farm,
When a[G] phone call from A[Am]merica said[G] send the lad[C] over,
And the[G] ould fella[Em] said it would'nt[D] do any[G] harm.
For I[C] spent me life[D] working this[G] dirty old ground,
For a[C] few pints of por[D]ter and the[G] smell of a pound,
And ma[G]ybe there's[Am] something you will[G] learn or[C] see,
And you can[G] bring it back[Em] home make it[D] easy on[G] me.
So I landed at Kennedy and a big yellow taxi,
Carried me and me bags through the streets and the rain,
Well me poor heart was thumping around with excitement,
And I hardly even heard what the driver was saying.
We came in the short parkway to the flat lands of Brooklyn,
To me uncle's apartment on east 53rd,
I was feeling so happy I was humming a song,
And I sang ''Your as free as a bird''
Well to shorten the story what I found out that day,
Was that Benjy got shot down in an uptown foray,
And while I was flying 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,be a proud Irishman.
So I went off to Nellys beside Fordham Road,
And I started to learn about lifting the load,
But the heaviest thing that I carried thad year,
Was the bitter sweet thought of my home town so dear,
I went home that December cause the ould fella died,
Had to borrow the money fro Phil on the site,
And all the bright flowers and brass could'nt hide,
The poor wasted face of me father.
I sold up the old farmyard for what it was worth,
And into me bag stuck a hand full of earth,
Then I boarded a train and I cought 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 ion the streets of New York
Guitar chords for all the verses.
I [G]was eighteen years [Am]old when I [G]went down to [C]Dublin,
With a [G]fist full of [Em]money and a [Am]cart load of [D]dreams,
Take your [G]time said me [Am]father, stop [G]rushing like [C]hell,
And re[G]member all is [Em]not what [D7]it seems to [G]be.
For there’s [D]fellas would [Em]cut you for the [C]coat on your [G]back,
Or the [C]watch that you [Em]got from your [D]mother,
So take [G]care me young [Am]buck-o and [G]mind yourself [C]well,
And will you [G]give this wee [D7]note to me [G]brother.
At the [D]time Uncle Benjy was a [C]police-man in [G]Brooklyn,
And me [D]father, the youngest, looked [C]after the [D]farm,
When a [G]phone call from Ame[Am]rica said [G]send the lad [C]over,
And the [G]ould fella [Em]said it wouldn’t [D]do any [G]harm.
For I [C]spent me life [D]working this [G]dirty old ground,
For a [C]few pints of por[D]ter and the [G]smell of a pound,
And ma[G]ybe there’s [Am]something you will [G]learn or [C]see,
And you can [G]bring it back [Em]home make it [D]easy on [G]me.
So I [G]landed at Kennedy and a [C]big yellow taxi,
Carried [G]me and me bags through the [Em]streets and the rain,
Well me [G]poor heart was thumping around [Am]with excitement,
And I [G]hardly even [Em]heard what the [D]driver was saying.
We [G]came in the short parkway to the [C]flat lands of Brooklyn,
To me [G]uncle’s apartment on [Em]East 53rd,
I was [G]feeling so happy I was [Am]humming a song,
And I [G]sang, “You’re as [D]free as a [G]bird.”
Well to [G]shorten the story, what I [C]found out that day,
Was that [G]Benjy got shot down in an [Em]uptown foray,
And while I was [G]flying my way to [Am]New York,
Poor [G]Benjy was lying in a [D]cold city [G]morgue.
Well I [G]phoned up the ould fella, [C]told him the news,
I could [G]tell he could hardly [Em]stand in his shoes,
And he [G]wept as he told me, go [Am]ahead with the plan,
And not to [G]forget, be a [D]proud Irish[G]man.
So I [G]went off to Nellie’s be[C]side Fordham Road,
And I [G]started to learn about [Em]lifting the load,
But the [G]heaviest thing that I [Am]carried that year,
Was the [G]bittersweet thought of my [D]home town so [G]dear.
I [G]went home that December ’cause the [C]ould fella died,
Had to [G]borrow the money from [Em]Phil on the site,
And all the [G]bright flowers and [Am]brass couldn’t hide,
The [G]poor wasted face of me [D]father.
I [G]sold up the old farmyard for [C]what it was worth,
And into me [G]bag stuck a [Em]hand full of earth,
Then I [G]boarded a train and I [Am]caught me a plane,
And I [G]found myself back in the [D]U.S. a[G]gain.
It’s been [G]twenty-two years since I [C]set foot in Dublin,
The kids [G]know to use the [Em]correct knife and fork,
But I’ll [G]never forget the [Am]green grass and rivers,
As I [G]keep law and [D]order on the [G]streets of New York.
I [G]was eighteen years [Am]old when I [G]went down to [C]Dublin,
With a [G]fist full of [Em]money and a [Am]cart load of [D]dreams,
Take your [G]time said me [Am]father, stop [G]rushing like [C]hell,
And re[G]member all is [Em]not what [D7]it seems to [G]be.
For there’s [D]fellas would [Em]cut you for the [C]coat on your [G]back,
Or the [C]watch that you [Em]got from your [D]mother,
So take [G]care me young [Am]buck-o and [G]mind yourself [C]well,
And will you [G]give this wee [D7]note to me [G]brother.
At the [D]time Uncle Benjy was a [C]police-man in [G]Brooklyn,
And me [D]father, the youngest, looked [C]after the [D]farm,
When a [G]phone call from Ame[Am]rica said [G]send the lad [C]over,
And the [G]ould fella [Em]said it wouldn’t [D]do any [G]harm.
For I [C]spent me life [D]working this [G]dirty old ground,
For a [C]few pints of por[D]ter and the [G]smell of a pound,
And ma[G]ybe there’s [Am]something you will [G]learn or [C]see,
And you can [G]bring it back [Em]home make it [D]easy on [G]me.
So I [G]landed at Kennedy and a [C]big yellow taxi,
Carried [G]me and me bags through the [Em]streets and the rain,
Well me [G]poor heart was thumping around [Am]with excitement,
And I [G]hardly even [Em]heard what the [D]driver was saying.
We [G]came in the short parkway to the [C]flat lands of Brooklyn,
To me [G]uncle’s apartment on [Em]East 53rd,
I was [G]feeling so happy I was [Am]humming a song,
And I [G]sang, “You’re as [D]free as a [G]bird.”
Well to [G]shorten the story, what I [C]found out that day,
Was that [G]Benjy got shot down in an [Em]uptown foray,
And while I was [G]flying my way to [Am]New York,
Poor [G]Benjy was lying in a [D]cold city [G]morgue.
Well I [G]phoned up the ould fella, [C]told him the news,
I could [G]tell he could hardly [Em]stand in his shoes,
And he [G]wept as he told me, go [Am]ahead with the plan,
And not to [G]forget, be a [D]proud Irish[G]man.
So I [G]went off to Nellie’s be[C]side Fordham Road,
And I [G]started to learn about [Em]lifting the load,
But the [G]heaviest thing that I [Am]carried that year,
Was the [G]bittersweet thought of my [D]home town so [G]dear.
I [G]went home that December ’cause the [C]ould fella died,
Had to [G]borrow the money from [Em]Phil on the site,
And all the [G]bright flowers and [Am]brass couldn’t hide,
The [G]poor wasted face of me [D]father.
I [G]sold up the old farmyard for [C]what it was worth,
And into me [G]bag stuck a [Em]hand full of earth,
Then I [G]boarded a train and I [Am]caught me a plane,
And I [G]found myself back in the [D]U.S. a[G]gain.
It’s been [G]twenty-two years since I [C]set foot in Dublin,
The kids [G]know to use the [Em]correct knife and fork,
But I’ll [G]never forget the [Am]green grass and rivers,
As I [G]keep law and [D]order on the [G]streets of New York.
The Streets of New York (in G major, 3/4 time).
🎸 Strumming Pattern (3/4 Waltz Feel)
For 3/4 time, think of a boom–chick–chick rhythm.
➤ Pattern:
Bass – Down – Down
(Repeat per measure)
That means:
Beat 1 → pluck bass note (lowest string of the chord)
Beats 2 & 3 → light downstrokes on the higher strings
Count: 1 2 3 | 1 2 3
Example (G chord):
E|3---------------------|
B|0-----0-----0--------|
G|0-----0-----0--------|
D|0-----0-----0--------|
A|2-----2-----2--------|
E|3--------------------|
1 2 3
This gives the gentle swing typical of Irish 3/4 songs.
🎶 Fingerpicking Pattern (for 3/4)
You can use a rolling waltz fingerpicking style:
Pattern:
P – i – m – P – i – m
(Thumb, index, middle, repeat)
This alternates bass and treble in a flowing rhythm.
🎵 Fingerpicking Tab (Verse + Chorus)
Here’s a full intro/verse/chorus picking arrangement in G major, 3/4 time.
Verse
[G]
e|-------------------3----------------|
B|-------0-------0-----0-------------|
G|-----0-------0---0-----0-----------|
D|-----------------------------------|
A|---------------------------2-------|
E|-3-----------3---------------------|
1 2 3 1 2 3
[Am]
e|--------------------0--------------|
B|-------1-------1------1------------|
G|-----2-------2---2------2----------|
D|-2-----------2---------------------|
A|-----------------------------------|
E|-----------------------------------|
[C]
e|--------------------0--------------|
B|-------1-------1------1------------|
G|-----0-------0---0------0----------|
D|-2-----------2---------------------|
A|-3---------------------------------|
E|-----------------------------------|
[Em]
e|--------------------0--------------|
B|-------0-------0------0------------|
G|-----0-------0---0------0----------|
D|-2-----------2---------------------|
A|-----------------------------------|
E|-----------------------------------|
[D7]
e|--------------------2--------------|
B|-------1-------1------1------------|
G|-----2-------2---2------2----------|
D|-0-----------0---------------------|
A|-----------------------------------|
E|-----------------------------------|
Chorus
[C] For I spent me life [D] working this [G] dirty old ground
e|--------------------0--------------|--------------------2--------------|--------------------3--------------|
B|-------1-------1------1------------|-------3-------3------3------------|-------0-------0------0------------|
G|-----0-------0---0------0----------|-----2-------2---2------2----------|-----0-------0---0------0----------|
D|-2-----------2---------------------|-0-----------0---------------------|-----------------------------------|
A|-3---------------------------------|-----------------------------------|---------------------------2-------|
E|-----------------------------------|-----------------------------------|-3-----------3---------------------|
[C] For a few pints of porter and the [D] smell of a pound
(Repeat the same picking pattern for C and D)
[G] And ma[G]ybe there’s [Am]something you will [G]learn or [C]see
(Use G–Am–G–C pattern from above)
And you can [G]bring it back [Em]home make it [D]easy on [G]me
(Use G–Em–D–G pattern as above)
🎵 Summary of Playing Style
Section Style Feel
Verse Fingerpicked (rolling 3/4) Gentle storytelling
Chorus Strummed (Bass–Down–Down) Waltz sway, emotional lift
Tempo 120 bpm Moderate (like the Wolfe Tones’ version)
🎸 Strumming Pattern (3/4 Waltz Feel)
For 3/4 time, think of a boom–chick–chick rhythm.
➤ Pattern:
Bass – Down – Down
(Repeat per measure)
That means:
Beat 1 → pluck bass note (lowest string of the chord)
Beats 2 & 3 → light downstrokes on the higher strings
Count: 1 2 3 | 1 2 3
Example (G chord):
E|3---------------------|
B|0-----0-----0--------|
G|0-----0-----0--------|
D|0-----0-----0--------|
A|2-----2-----2--------|
E|3--------------------|
1 2 3
This gives the gentle swing typical of Irish 3/4 songs.
🎶 Fingerpicking Pattern (for 3/4)
You can use a rolling waltz fingerpicking style:
Pattern:
P – i – m – P – i – m
(Thumb, index, middle, repeat)
This alternates bass and treble in a flowing rhythm.
🎵 Fingerpicking Tab (Verse + Chorus)
Here’s a full intro/verse/chorus picking arrangement in G major, 3/4 time.
Verse
[G]
e|-------------------3----------------|
B|-------0-------0-----0-------------|
G|-----0-------0---0-----0-----------|
D|-----------------------------------|
A|---------------------------2-------|
E|-3-----------3---------------------|
1 2 3 1 2 3
[Am]
e|--------------------0--------------|
B|-------1-------1------1------------|
G|-----2-------2---2------2----------|
D|-2-----------2---------------------|
A|-----------------------------------|
E|-----------------------------------|
[C]
e|--------------------0--------------|
B|-------1-------1------1------------|
G|-----0-------0---0------0----------|
D|-2-----------2---------------------|
A|-3---------------------------------|
E|-----------------------------------|
[Em]
e|--------------------0--------------|
B|-------0-------0------0------------|
G|-----0-------0---0------0----------|
D|-2-----------2---------------------|
A|-----------------------------------|
E|-----------------------------------|
[D7]
e|--------------------2--------------|
B|-------1-------1------1------------|
G|-----2-------2---2------2----------|
D|-0-----------0---------------------|
A|-----------------------------------|
E|-----------------------------------|
Chorus
[C] For I spent me life [D] working this [G] dirty old ground
e|--------------------0--------------|--------------------2--------------|--------------------3--------------|
B|-------1-------1------1------------|-------3-------3------3------------|-------0-------0------0------------|
G|-----0-------0---0------0----------|-----2-------2---2------2----------|-----0-------0---0------0----------|
D|-2-----------2---------------------|-0-----------0---------------------|-----------------------------------|
A|-3---------------------------------|-----------------------------------|---------------------------2-------|
E|-----------------------------------|-----------------------------------|-3-----------3---------------------|
[C] For a few pints of porter and the [D] smell of a pound
(Repeat the same picking pattern for C and D)
[G] And ma[G]ybe there’s [Am]something you will [G]learn or [C]see
(Use G–Am–G–C pattern from above)
And you can [G]bring it back [Em]home make it [D]easy on [G]me
(Use G–Em–D–G pattern as above)
🎵 Summary of Playing Style
Section Style Feel
Verse Fingerpicked (rolling 3/4) Gentle storytelling
Chorus Strummed (Bass–Down–Down) Waltz sway, emotional lift
Tempo 120 bpm Moderate (like the Wolfe Tones’ version)
Guitar chords in the key of D
I [D]was eighteen years [Em]old when I [D]went down to [G]Dublin,
With a [D]fist full of [Bm]money and a [Em]cart load of [A]dreams,
Take your [D]time said me [Em]father, stop [D]rushing like [G]hell,
And re[D]member all is [Bm]not what [A7]it seems to [D]be.
For there's [A]fellas would [Bm]cut you for the [G]coat on your [D]back,
Or the [G]watch that you [Bm]got from your [A]mother,
So take [D]care me young [Em]buck-o and [D]mind yourself [G]well,
And will you [D]give this wee [A7]note to me [D]brother.
At the [A]time Uncle Benjy was a [G]police-man in [D]Brooklyn,
And me [A]father, the youngest, looked [G]after the [A]farm,
When a [D]phone call from Ame[Em]rica said [D]send the lad [G]over,
And the [D]ould fella [Bm]said it wouldn't [A]do any [D]harm.
For I [G]spent me life [A]working this [D]dirty old ground,
For a [G]few pints of por[A]ter and the [D]smell of a pound,
And ma[D]ybe there's [Em]something you will [D]learn or [G]see,
And you can [D]bring it back [Bm]home make it [A]easy on [D]me.
So I [D]landed at Kennedy and a [G]big yellow taxi,
Carried [D]me and me bags through the [Bm]streets and the rain,
Well me [D]poor heart was thumping around [Em]with excitement,
And I [D]hardly even [Bm]heard what the [A]driver was saying.
We [D]came in the short parkway to the [G]flat lands of Brooklyn,
To me [D]uncle's apartment on [Bm]East 53rd,
I was [D]feeling so happy I was [Em]humming a song,
And I [D]sang, "You're as [A]free as a [D]bird."
Well to [D]shorten the story, what I [G]found out that day,
Was that [D]Benjy got shot down in an [Bm]uptown foray,
And while I was [D]flying my way to [Em]New York,
Poor [D]Benjy was lying in a [A]cold city [D]morgue.
Well I [D]phoned up the ould fella, [G]told him the news,
I could [D]tell he could hardly [Bm]stand in his shoes,
And he [D]wept as he told me, go [Em]ahead with the plan,
And not to [D]forget, be a [A]proud Irish[D]man.
So I [D]went off to Nellie's be[G]side Fordham Road,
And I [D]started to learn about [Bm]lifting the load,
But the [D]heaviest thing that I [Em]carried that year,
Was the [D]bittersweet thought of my [A]home town so [D]dear.
I [D]went home that December 'cause the [G]ould fella died,
Had to [D]borrow the money from [Bm]Phil on the site,
And all the [D]bright flowers and [Em]brass couldn't hide,
The [D]poor wasted face of me [A]father.
I [D]sold up the old farmyard for [G]what it was worth,
And into me [D]bag stuck a [Bm]hand full of earth,
Then I [D]boarded a train and I [Em]caught me a plane,
And I [D]found myself back in the [A]U.S. a[D]gain.
It's been [D]twenty-two years since I [G]set foot in Dublin,
The kids [D]know to use the [Bm]correct knife and fork,
But I'll [D]never forget the [Em]green grass and rivers,
As I [D]keep law and [A]order on the [D]streets of New York.
I [D]was eighteen years [Em]old when I [D]went down to [G]Dublin,
With a [D]fist full of [Bm]money and a [Em]cart load of [A]dreams,
Take your [D]time said me [Em]father, stop [D]rushing like [G]hell,
And re[D]member all is [Bm]not what [A7]it seems to [D]be.
For there's [A]fellas would [Bm]cut you for the [G]coat on your [D]back,
Or the [G]watch that you [Bm]got from your [A]mother,
So take [D]care me young [Em]buck-o and [D]mind yourself [G]well,
And will you [D]give this wee [A7]note to me [D]brother.
At the [A]time Uncle Benjy was a [G]police-man in [D]Brooklyn,
And me [A]father, the youngest, looked [G]after the [A]farm,
When a [D]phone call from Ame[Em]rica said [D]send the lad [G]over,
And the [D]ould fella [Bm]said it wouldn't [A]do any [D]harm.
For I [G]spent me life [A]working this [D]dirty old ground,
For a [G]few pints of por[A]ter and the [D]smell of a pound,
And ma[D]ybe there's [Em]something you will [D]learn or [G]see,
And you can [D]bring it back [Bm]home make it [A]easy on [D]me.
So I [D]landed at Kennedy and a [G]big yellow taxi,
Carried [D]me and me bags through the [Bm]streets and the rain,
Well me [D]poor heart was thumping around [Em]with excitement,
And I [D]hardly even [Bm]heard what the [A]driver was saying.
We [D]came in the short parkway to the [G]flat lands of Brooklyn,
To me [D]uncle's apartment on [Bm]East 53rd,
I was [D]feeling so happy I was [Em]humming a song,
And I [D]sang, "You're as [A]free as a [D]bird."
Well to [D]shorten the story, what I [G]found out that day,
Was that [D]Benjy got shot down in an [Bm]uptown foray,
And while I was [D]flying my way to [Em]New York,
Poor [D]Benjy was lying in a [A]cold city [D]morgue.
Well I [D]phoned up the ould fella, [G]told him the news,
I could [D]tell he could hardly [Bm]stand in his shoes,
And he [D]wept as he told me, go [Em]ahead with the plan,
And not to [D]forget, be a [A]proud Irish[D]man.
So I [D]went off to Nellie's be[G]side Fordham Road,
And I [D]started to learn about [Bm]lifting the load,
But the [D]heaviest thing that I [Em]carried that year,
Was the [D]bittersweet thought of my [A]home town so [D]dear.
I [D]went home that December 'cause the [G]ould fella died,
Had to [D]borrow the money from [Bm]Phil on the site,
And all the [D]bright flowers and [Em]brass couldn't hide,
The [D]poor wasted face of me [A]father.
I [D]sold up the old farmyard for [G]what it was worth,
And into me [D]bag stuck a [Bm]hand full of earth,
Then I [D]boarded a train and I [Em]caught me a plane,
And I [D]found myself back in the [A]U.S. a[D]gain.
It's been [D]twenty-two years since I [G]set foot in Dublin,
The kids [D]know to use the [Bm]correct knife and fork,
But I'll [D]never forget the [Em]green grass and rivers,
As I [D]keep law and [A]order on the [D]streets of New York.
Guitar chords in the key of C
I [C]was eighteen years [Dm]old when I [C]went down to [F]Dublin,
With a [C]fist full of [Am]money and a [Dm]cart load of [G]dreams,
Take your [C]time said me [Dm]father, stop [C]rushing like [F]hell,
And re[C]member all is [Am]not what [G7]it seems to [C]be.
For there's [G]fellas would [Am]cut you for the [F]coat on your [C]back,
Or the [F]watch that you [Am]got from your [G]mother,
So take [C]care me young [Dm]buck-o and [C]mind yourself [F]well,
And will you [C]give this wee [G7]note to me [C]brother.
At the [G]time Uncle Benjy was a [F]police-man in [C]Brooklyn,
And me [G]father, the youngest, looked [F]after the [G]farm,
When a [C]phone call from Ame[Dm]rica said [C]send the lad [F]over,
And the [C]ould fella [Am]said it wouldn't [G]do any [C]harm.
For I [F]spent me life [G]working this [C]dirty old ground,
For a [F]few pints of por[G]ter and the [C]smell of a pound,
And ma[C]ybe there's [Dm]something you will [C]learn or [F]see,
And you can [C]bring it back [Am]home make it [G]easy on [C]me.
So I [C]landed at Kennedy and a [F]big yellow taxi,
Carried [C]me and me bags through the [Am]streets and the rain,
Well me [C]poor heart was thumping around [Dm]with excitement,
And I [C]hardly even [Am]heard what the [G]driver was saying.
We [C]came in the short parkway to the [F]flat lands of Brooklyn,
To me [C]uncle's apartment on [Am]East 53rd,
I was [C]feeling so happy I was [Dm]humming a song,
And I [C]sang, "You're as [G]free as a [C]bird."
Well to [C]shorten the story, what I [F]found out that day,
Was that [C]Benjy got shot down in an [Am]uptown foray,
And while I was [C]flying my way to [Dm]New York,
Poor [C]Benjy was lying in a [G]cold city [C]morgue.
Well I [C]phoned up the ould fella, [F]told him the news,
I could [C]tell he could hardly [Am]stand in his shoes,
And he [C]wept as he told me, go [Dm]ahead with the plan,
And not to [C]forget, be a [G]proud Irish[C]man.
So I [C]went off to Nellie's be[F]side Fordham Road,
And I [C]started to learn about [Am]lifting the load,
But the [C]heaviest thing that I [Dm]carried that year,
Was the [C]bittersweet thought of my [G]home town so [C]dear.
I [C]went home that December 'cause the [F]ould fella died,
Had to [C]borrow the money from [Am]Phil on the site,
And all the [C]bright flowers and [Dm]brass couldn't hide,
The [C]poor wasted face of me [G]father.
I [C]sold up the old farmyard for [F]what it was worth,
And into me [C]bag stuck a [Am]hand full of earth,
Then I [C]boarded a train and I [Dm]caught me a plane,
And I [C]found myself back in the [G]U.S. a[C]gain.
It's been [C]twenty-two years since I [F]set foot in Dublin,
The kids [C]know to use the [Am]correct knife and fork,
But I'll [C]never forget the [Dm]green grass and rivers,
As I [C]keep law and [G]order on the [C]streets of New York.
I [C]was eighteen years [Dm]old when I [C]went down to [F]Dublin,
With a [C]fist full of [Am]money and a [Dm]cart load of [G]dreams,
Take your [C]time said me [Dm]father, stop [C]rushing like [F]hell,
And re[C]member all is [Am]not what [G7]it seems to [C]be.
For there's [G]fellas would [Am]cut you for the [F]coat on your [C]back,
Or the [F]watch that you [Am]got from your [G]mother,
So take [C]care me young [Dm]buck-o and [C]mind yourself [F]well,
And will you [C]give this wee [G7]note to me [C]brother.
At the [G]time Uncle Benjy was a [F]police-man in [C]Brooklyn,
And me [G]father, the youngest, looked [F]after the [G]farm,
When a [C]phone call from Ame[Dm]rica said [C]send the lad [F]over,
And the [C]ould fella [Am]said it wouldn't [G]do any [C]harm.
For I [F]spent me life [G]working this [C]dirty old ground,
For a [F]few pints of por[G]ter and the [C]smell of a pound,
And ma[C]ybe there's [Dm]something you will [C]learn or [F]see,
And you can [C]bring it back [Am]home make it [G]easy on [C]me.
So I [C]landed at Kennedy and a [F]big yellow taxi,
Carried [C]me and me bags through the [Am]streets and the rain,
Well me [C]poor heart was thumping around [Dm]with excitement,
And I [C]hardly even [Am]heard what the [G]driver was saying.
We [C]came in the short parkway to the [F]flat lands of Brooklyn,
To me [C]uncle's apartment on [Am]East 53rd,
I was [C]feeling so happy I was [Dm]humming a song,
And I [C]sang, "You're as [G]free as a [C]bird."
Well to [C]shorten the story, what I [F]found out that day,
Was that [C]Benjy got shot down in an [Am]uptown foray,
And while I was [C]flying my way to [Dm]New York,
Poor [C]Benjy was lying in a [G]cold city [C]morgue.
Well I [C]phoned up the ould fella, [F]told him the news,
I could [C]tell he could hardly [Am]stand in his shoes,
And he [C]wept as he told me, go [Dm]ahead with the plan,
And not to [C]forget, be a [G]proud Irish[C]man.
So I [C]went off to Nellie's be[F]side Fordham Road,
And I [C]started to learn about [Am]lifting the load,
But the [C]heaviest thing that I [Dm]carried that year,
Was the [C]bittersweet thought of my [G]home town so [C]dear.
I [C]went home that December 'cause the [F]ould fella died,
Had to [C]borrow the money from [Am]Phil on the site,
And all the [C]bright flowers and [Dm]brass couldn't hide,
The [C]poor wasted face of me [G]father.
I [C]sold up the old farmyard for [F]what it was worth,
And into me [C]bag stuck a [Am]hand full of earth,
Then I [C]boarded a train and I [Dm]caught me a plane,
And I [C]found myself back in the [G]U.S. a[C]gain.
It's been [C]twenty-two years since I [F]set foot in Dublin,
The kids [C]know to use the [Am]correct knife and fork,
But I'll [C]never forget the [Dm]green grass and rivers,
As I [C]keep law and [G]order on the [C]streets of New York.
Below is the list of sheet music and tin whistle songs that are in my ebooks. This is the largest collection of tin whistle songs ever put together.[over 900 songs ] Including folk, pop and trad tunes plus German And French songs along with Christmas Carols.
All of the sheet music tabs have been made as easy to play as was possible.
The price of the ebooks is €7.50
The Streets Of New York Is Included.
All of the sheet music tabs have been made as easy to play as was possible.
The price of the ebooks is €7.50
The Streets Of New York Is Included.
The Wolfe Tones song Streets Of New York
Girl playing The Streets Of New York on tin whistle
