At the time uncle Benji was a policeman in Brooklyn and me father the youngest looked after the farm. And when a phone call from America said send the lad over well the auld fella said sure it wouldn't do any harm.

For I've spent me life working this dirty old ground for a few pints of porter and the smell of a pound.
And well maybe there's something you'll learn or you'll see and you can bring it back home make it easy on me.

Well I landed in Kennedy and a big yellow taxi carried me and me bags through the streets and the rain, well me poor heart was pumpin' around with excitement and I hardly even heard what the driver was saying.
We went through the short parkway to the flatlands of Brooklyn and me uncles 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 Benji got shot down in an uptown foray.
and while I was flying my way to New York poor Benji was lying in a cold city morgue.

Well I phoned up the auld fella told him the news I could he could hardly stand up in his shoes and he wept as he told me go ahead with your plans and not to forget BE A PROUD IRISH MAN.

So I went down to Nelly's beside fourdom road where I started to learn about liftin' the load but all I could think of as I wiped of a tear was the bitter sweet thoughts of my home town so dear.

I went home that December cause' the auld fella died and to borrow the money from a fella on the side.
But all the bright flowers and grass couldn't hide the poor wasted face of me father.

So I sold up the farmyard for what it was worth and into me bag stuck a handful of earth, and I boarded a train and I caught me a plane and I found myself back in the U.S again.

It's been 22 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 on the streets of New York.