Nothing But The Same Old Story - Paul Brady

    I was just about nineteen
    When I landed on their shore
    With my eyes big as headlights
    Like the thousands and thousands who came before
    I was going to be something . . .
    Smiled at the man scrutinising my face
    As I stepped down off the gangway

    Came down to their city
    Where I worked for many's the year
    Built a hundred houses
    Must've pulled half a million pints of beer
    Living under suspicion
    Putting up with the hatred and fear in their eyes
    You can see that you're nothing but a murderer
    In their eyes, we're nothing but a bunch of murderers

    Hey, Johnny, can't wait till Saturday night!
    Got a thirst that's raging . . .
    Know a place where we can put that right
    Wash away the confusion
    Hose down this fire inside
    But look out!
    'Cause I'll tear you into pieces if you cross me.

    I'm sick of watching them break up
    Every time some bird brain puts us down
    Making jokes on the radio . . .
    Guess it helps them all drown out the sound
    Of the crumbling foundations
    Any fool can see the writing on the wall
    But they just don't believe that its happening.

    There's a crowd says I'm alright
    Say they like my turn of phrase
    Take me round to their parties
    Like some dressed up monkey in a cage.
    And I play my accordion
    Oh! but when the wine seeps through the facade
    It's nothing but the same old story
    Nothing but the same old story

    Got a brother in Boston
    Says he'll send me on the fare
    Just wrote me a letter
    Making out that he's cleaning up out there
    Two cars in the driveway.
    Summer house way down on the Cape
    And I know he'd fix me up in the morning

    I've been thinking about it
    But it seems so far to go
    People say in the winter
    you'd get lost underneath the snow
    And there's this girl from my home place
    We've been planning to move back and give it a try
    So I never got around to going
    That's why I never got around to going.

    Copyright Rondor Music (London)


    Marco Giunco
    Work Basket Music Words