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Last night as I slept 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 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, jumped bail and landed up in jail |
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Life has often tried to stretch me but the rope always was slack |
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And now that I've a pile I'll go down to the Chelsea |
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I'll walk in on my feet but I'll leave there on my back |
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Because 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, yeah |
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Oh, the words that he spoke seemed the wisest of philosophies |
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There's nothing ever gained by a wet thing called a tear |
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When the world is too dark and I need the light inside of me |
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I'll walk into a bar, drink fifteen pints of beer |
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Because 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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Where streams of whiskey are flowing |
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Where streams of whiskey are flowing |
