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I Wish I Was
Back In Liverpool - (Stan Kelly / Leon Rosselson)
I wish I was back
in Liverpool
Liverpool town where I was born
Where there ain't no trees, no scented breeze
No fields of waving corn
But there's lots of girls with peroxide curls
And the black-and-tan flows free
Where there's six in a bed by the old pierhead
And it's Liverpool town for me
It's ten long
years since I went away
To roam the wide world o'er
My very first trip in an old tramp ship
That was bound for Baltimore
I was ten days sick, I just couldn't stick
That bobbing up and down
So I told them, Jack, to turn right back
To dear old Liverpool town
We built the Mersey
tunnel, boys
Way back in 'thirty-three
Dug an 'ole in the ground until we found
An 'ole called Wallasey
And the foreman cried, Come on outside
The roof is fallin' down
And I'm tellin' you, Jack, we all swam back
To dear old Liverpool town
There's every
race and colour of face
And every kind of name
But the pigeons on the pierhead
They'll treat us all the same
If you walk up Upper Parliament Street
You'll see faces black and brown
And I've also seen the Orange and Green
In dear old Liverpool town
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Liverpool Judies
When I was a young lad, I sailed
with the rest,
On a Liverpool packet, bound out to the west
We anchored one day in the harbour of Cork,
Then we sailed on our way to the Port of New York,
Sing Row, row, bullies row, them Liverpool Judies has got us in tow.
For forty two days we wuz hungry
an sore.
Oh the winds were agin us, the gales they did roar
Off Battery point we did anchor at last,
Wid our jibboom hove in and our canvas all fast
De boardin' house masters wuz off in a trice
A-shoutin' an' promisin' all that wuz nice,
An' one fat ol' crimp he got cottin'd to me,
Sez he,, "Yer a fool, lad, ter follow the sea."
Sez he, "There's a job as is waitin' for you,
Wid lashin's o' liquor an' begger-all to do
Sez he, "What d'yer say lad, will you jump her too,
Sez I, "Ye ol' bastard, I'm damned if I do
But de best o' intentions dey never gits far,
After forty-two days at the door of a bar
I tossed off me liquor an' what do ye think?
Why the lousy ol' barstard had drugs in me drink
The next I remembers, I woke in de morn,
On a three-skys'l yarder bound south round Cape Horn
Wid a ol' suit of oilskins an' two pair o' sox,
An' a bloomin' great head, an' a dose of the pox
Now all ye young sailors take a warnin' from me
Keep a watch on yer drinks when de liquor is free,
An' pay no attention to runner or whore,
Or yer head'll be thick an' yer throat'll be sore,
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You Ever Go Across The Sea To Liverpool
If you ever
go across the seas to Liverpool then maybe at the closing of your day,
you can see the moon rise over Garston Gasworks and watch the sun go down
on Dingle Bay.
Just to see
again the Ferries on the Mersey; the cars on William Brown Street in a
jam
and to sit beside your Judy in the Scala, and get her bevvied in the "Legs
of Man."
There's a man
who stands just opposite the Adelphi; He stands there all day long, he's
in his prime,
But I think he'll have to go and get some clothes on, before they'll let
him in at opening time.
Oh I watch the
Orange Lodge parade to Southport, that one day in the year, they think
it's grand
And I see the kids who sit outside the boozer, with as conny-onny butty
full of sand.
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In My Liverpool
Home
I was born in
Liverpool, down by the docks,
My religion was Catholic; occupation - hard knocks.
At stealing from lorries, I was adept,
and underneath overcoats each night I slept.
In my Liverpool
home,
In my Liverpool Home,
We speak with an accent exceedingly rare;
Meet under a statue exceedingly bare.
If you want a cathedral, we've got one to spare,
in my Liverpool home.
Back in the Forties
the world it went mad,
and Hitler he threw at us all that he had.
When the smoke and the dust had all cleared from the air,
"Thank God," said my old man," the Pier Head's still there."
Over at Anfield
the shirts they are red.
And the players play football as though they were dead.
While over at Goodison the shirts they are blue,
and the football they play is fantastic to view.
If it's football
you're wanting, the team at the top,
is the team that they're singing about in the Kop;
this city has got two great teams it deserves;
Liverpool First Team, and Liverpool Reserves.
I took a walk
along Lime Street one day,
I saw a "Young lady" a-heading my way;
"Have you got the right time, love", says I to the lass,
She said,"I've got the time, Jack, if you've got the brass."
When I grew up,
I met Bridget Mc Cann;
she said, "You're not much, but I'm needing a man;
I want sixteen kids, and a house out in Speke;
well, the flesh it was willing, but the spirit was weak.
Walton Gaol is
the place for a quiet week-end.
Climb over the wall, and you'll meet all your friends.
You can sit and watch telly, drink whisky and beer
and chalk on the prison walls; "Kilroy was here".
We've got wide
open spaces like the Wavertree Park,
where it's unsafe by daylight and more so by dark
We've got places of culture like Dingle and Speke,
where they play "tick" with hatchets, and fight with their feet.
We've got romantic
places like the Cast-Iron Shore,
where you can find someone else's back door,
We had John, we had George, Ringo and Paul,
the Liverpool Spinners, and the St George's Hall.
Way out in Kirkby,
the kids they wear clogs,
there's eight million kids there's ten million dogs.
They play "tick" with hatchets, I tell you no lie,
and they call you a "cissy" if you've more than one eye.
When my last whistle
blows & the "Ref Up There" says;
"You've supped your last Guinness,lad, it's the end of your days,"
Take my ashes to Old Trafford and spread them around,
and they won't win a match while I'm haunting the ground.
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Now you jolly
sailor lads,
Come listen to my tale,
I'm sure you will have cause to pity me,
I was a damned young fool
In the port of Liverpool,
When I called there on my first port home from sea.
Refrain:
Oh Maggie, Maggie May
They have taken her away
To slave upon Van Dieman's cruel shore.
Oh, you robbed so many whalers,
And dosed so many sailors
But you'll never cruise 'round Peter Street no more.
I was staying
at the Home,
From a voyage to Sierre Leone,
And two-pound-ten a month was all my pay,
As I jingled with my tin,
I was easy taken in,
By a little girl up there called Maggie May.
Oh, I'll never
forget the day
When I first met Maggie May,
She was standing on a corner at Canning Place,
In a full-sized crin-o-line,
Like a frigate of the line,
And as she saw I was a sailor I gave chase.
She gave me
a saucy nod,
And I, like a farmer's clod,
Let her take me line abreast in tow,
And under all plain sail,
We ran before the gale
And to the Crow's Nest Tavern we did go
Next morning
when I woke,
I found that I was broke,
No shoes or shirt or trousers could I find,
When I asked her where they were,
She answers "My dear sir,
They're down in Lewis' pawnshop number nine."
So to Lewis'
I did go,
But no clothing could I find,
And the policeman took that wicked girl away,
And the judge he guilty found her,
Of robbing a homeward-bounder,
And now she's doing time in Botany Bay.
She was chained
and sent away
From Liverpool one day,
The lads all cheered as she sailed down the bay,
And every sailor lad,
He only was too glad
They'd sent that old whore out to Botany Bay.
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