The Cadillac stood by the house
And the Yanks, they were within
And the tinker boys, they hissed advice
'Hot-wire with her a pin'
Well, we turned and shook as we had a look
In the room where the dead man lay
So big Jim Dwyer made his last trip
To the shores where his fathers lay
And fifteen minutes later
We had our first taste of whiskey
There was uncles giving lectures
On ancient Irish history
The men all started telling jokes
And the women, they got frisky
At five o'clock in the evening
Every bastard there was piskey
Fare thee well, gone away
There's nothing left to say
Farewell to New York City, boys
To Boston and PA
He took them out with a well-aimed clout
And they often heard him say
"I'm a freeborn man of the USA"
He fought the champ in Pittsburgh
And he slashed him to the ground
He took on Tiny Tartanella
And it only went one round
He never had no time for reds
For drink or dice or whores
But he never threw a fight when a fight was right
So they sent him to the war
Fare thee well, gone away
There's nothing left to say
With a sláinte Joe and Erin go
My love's in Amerikay
The calling of the rosary
Spanish wine from far away
"I'm a freeborn man of the USA"
This morning on the harbour
When I said goodbye to you
I remembered how I swore
That I'd come back to you one day
And as the sunset came
To meet the evening on the hill
I told you I'd always love you
I always did, I always will
Fare thee well, gone away
There's nothing left to say
But say adieu to your eyes as blue
As the water in the bay
To big Jim Dwyer, the man of wire
Who was often heard to say
"I'm a freeborn man of the USA"
I'm a freeborn man of the USA
I'm a freeborn man of the USA
And the Yanks, they were within
And the tinker boys, they hissed advice
'Hot-wire with her a pin'
Well, we turned and shook as we had a look
In the room where the dead man lay
So big Jim Dwyer made his last trip
To the shores where his fathers lay
And fifteen minutes later
We had our first taste of whiskey
There was uncles giving lectures
On ancient Irish history
The men all started telling jokes
And the women, they got frisky
At five o'clock in the evening
Every bastard there was piskey
Fare thee well, gone away
There's nothing left to say
Farewell to New York City, boys
To Boston and PA
He took them out with a well-aimed clout
And they often heard him say
"I'm a freeborn man of the USA"
He fought the champ in Pittsburgh
And he slashed him to the ground
He took on Tiny Tartanella
And it only went one round
He never had no time for reds
For drink or dice or whores
But he never threw a fight when a fight was right
So they sent him to the war
Fare thee well, gone away
There's nothing left to say
With a sláinte Joe and Erin go
My love's in Amerikay
The calling of the rosary
Spanish wine from far away
"I'm a freeborn man of the USA"
This morning on the harbour
When I said goodbye to you
I remembered how I swore
That I'd come back to you one day
And as the sunset came
To meet the evening on the hill
I told you I'd always love you
I always did, I always will
Fare thee well, gone away
There's nothing left to say
But say adieu to your eyes as blue
As the water in the bay
To big Jim Dwyer, the man of wire
Who was often heard to say
"I'm a freeborn man of the USA"
I'm a freeborn man of the USA
I'm a freeborn man of the USA
Contributed by DoNQuijote82 - 2013/10/19 - 00:15
Bella, non la conoscevo, ma mi son trovato a cantarci sopra "Ho un vecchio amico che sta per partire...". Mi convinco sempre di più che i Modena City Ramblers stiano ai Pogues come Zucchero sta a Joe Cocker... ;)
Lorenzo - 2013/10/19 - 21:43
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Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
EP: Poguetry in Motion
Compare anche nella versione rimasterizzata del 2004 dell'album Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash (1985)
(MacGowan)
The instrumental part is borrowed from Guns of Navarone, a melody originally written by Dimitri Tiomkin for a 1961 film of the same name (adaptation of Alistair MacLean’s novel about a dangerous mission of Allied soldiers in World War II) and popularized by various bands, most famously The Skatalites and The Specials.
La storia migliore di MacGowan, capace di scatenare l’inferno con fisarmoniche, cornamuse e tin whistle, è contenuta nel grande classico del folk-punk celtico ribelle firmato dai Pogues: Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash. The Body of an American è stata in un certo senso penalizzata dall’utilizzo in tutte quelle scene di The Wire con i tizi irlandesi che ballano, ma questa è una delle canzoni più vere mai scritte sull’immigrazione. È anche uno dei migliori pezzi per funerali e sbronze. È anche la canzone più autentica che parla di lasciare casa e riderci su, pur sapendo che non ci tornerai più, che non riuscirai a dimenticare il vero amore che ti sei lasciato alle spalle, che non avrai mai più una vera casa.
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