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Last night as I slept |
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I dreamt I met with Behan |
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I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day |
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When questioned on his views |
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On the crux of life's philosophies |
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He had but these few clear and simple words to say |
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I am going, I am going |
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Any which way the wind may be blowing |
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I am going, I am going |
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Where streams of whiskey are flowing |
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I have cursed, bled and sworn |
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Jumped bail and landed up in jail |
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Life has often tried to stretch me |
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But the rope always went slack |
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And now that I've a pile |
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I'll go down to the Chelsea |
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I'll walk in on my feet |
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But I'll leave there on my back |
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Because I'm going, I am going |
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Any which way the wind may be blowing |
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I'm going, I'm going |
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Where streams of whiskey are flowing |
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Oh the words that he spoke |
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Seemed the wisest of philosophies |
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There was nothing ever gained |
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By a wet thing called a tear |
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When the world is too dark |
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And I need the light inside of me |
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I'll walk into a bar |
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And drink fifteen pints of beer |
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Because I'm going, I am going |
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Any which way the wind may be blowing |
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I am going, I am going |
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Where streams of whiskey are flowing |
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|
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I am going, I am going |
|
Any which way the wind may be blowing |
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I am going, I am going |
|
Where streams of whiskey are flowing |
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Where streams of whiskey are flowing |
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Where streams of whiskey are flowing |
