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