Good Old Days Songtext
von David Keenan

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