All on a Belfast Morning

He stumbled home from Clifton Fair

With drunken song and cheeks aglow

Yet there was something in his air

That told of kingship long ago

I sighed and inly cried with grief

That one so high should fall so low

But he snatched a flower and sniffed its scent

And waved it toward the sunset sky

Some old sweet rapture through him went

And kindled in his bloodshot eye

I turned and inly burned with joy

That one so low should rise so high

The pubs have all closed down

It's time to blow this town

The clock tower's ringing

The streets are washed with rain

There goes the Antrim train

Spanish Frankie's drunk again and singing

And the cats along the quay are sadly wailing

For the memory of that old Titanic sailing

Soon the first light of dawn will come a-borning

All on a Belfast morning

Seabirds bawling

Young mothers calling

To their wayward altar lads

Don't rip your trousers up

Don't drink from the chalice cup

The wine will turn your tongue blood red

And watch out for the badgers in the boggy ditch

And don't forget your peanut butter sandwich

And hide beneath your desk for fear of communists

May God damn the atom bomb that they might drop on us

Soon the sirens scream out a troubled warning

All on a Belfast morning

Come lift your heads lads

It's time to come alive

Forget that old saw

Only the strong survive

We rise and fall again

Our backs against the wind

We shall rise again

Rise again

Spanish Frankie sings "There She Blows"

With his ironmonger's nose

His forte is the whaling song

Like Reuben Ranso was no sailor

So he shipped aboard a whaler

But his boat went down near the Faroes

And the Spanish word "buscar" means to seek

Soon the buskers will be arriving on the morning streets

Spouting songs of love and fate and glory

Which the shop girls pretend to be ignoring

But in their sweet young breasts the melody's their story

All on a Belfast morning

The evening's coming on

The clock tower bangs the gong

Here comes the human scuttle

The cats have left the quay

Except one old Portuguese

Licking at her whiskers in a puddle

And the old men are retiring to the corner pub

Staring at the numbers from the rugby club

With their wives at home wondering where the romance was

Till the barman shouts "It's time boys!" but there's never time

Let us not confuse the pint with the pouring

Too soon comes a Belfast morning

Come lift your heads lads

The final round's on God

We're all brothers here

Old soldiers of the sod

And don't let the blind dogs of depression in

For the cobblestone streets will lead us home again

Where my daddy called me Tom

Tom the piper's son

Yeah I stole a bloody pig boys

And away I run

I run all around the world

And I'm still not done

'Cause the second half of life is meant for soaring

Well soon comes a Belfast morning

The pubs have all closed down

It's time to blow this town

The clock tower's ringing

And it's good night sweet ladies

And it's good night sweet ladies