Funeral Sessions
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Lyrics
Son I'm only passing through, I just called by to say
A farewell to an old friend who passed away
Tell your Ma, I'll see her after, I'm not hanging round this place
The temptation is too much for me to take
When they found him, he was still
Stone cold on St. Michael's hill
He scored bad gear in Henrietta Place
All the drunkards they stay local
All the junkies go to town
So I took my second chance and I got out
Son I'm straight but it ain't great, I'm barely getting by
With the boys I ran with dropping off like flies
I'm cosying a taxi in the midland afternoons
And delivering their takeaways at night
Well they're making their confessions
In the lounge at funeral sessions
There's only so much sorrow you can drown
Leaves a trace, does the dark years
On the hard faces of your peers
Only ever leave the stool when it's their round.
Still I miss waking up to find the horses in the garden
Close the gate, they'll eat your Mother's flowers
Summer evening on the avenue
Playing squares or path to pavement
A few tins with Sylvester's and the Powers
Son I best be going, I don't know when I'll rise again
Son I'm sorry that your fathers such a cunt
A funeral's a sad excuse to see your only son
But I'll be back to my old tricks within a month
In my head on a clear day
I hear my late great father say
You come from here you only got two routes
Be a drunkard and stay local
Be a gear head, go to town
Or you take your second chance and you get out
All the drunkards they stay local
All the junkies go to town
So I took my second chance and I got out