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I stumbled into Merrion row to listen to a tune
I fought my way down Grafton by the rising of the moon
I sat on the floor of my poxy room just me and the BBC
Eating bachelors beans out of the tin there's nothing here for me

And a rovin' you will go
You are not the one she wants
You are just a ghost
From an evening haunt
And a rovin' you will go
And you wish that she would stay
For now your day is empty and it's just another day

I put my pen to paper but there's nothin to be said
I might as well be in the desert with a turban on my head
I could go to Trader John's or I could shower and could shave
I could go on up to Wicklow and throw a rose on Ronnie's grave

I drank until my bones shook and gathered all my pay
I stood outside the locked up bar along the bachelors quay
I had absolutely forgotten that it was Christmas day
And now there's nothing open and there's nothing left to say

And it's only Christmas day
And it's just St. Stephen's Day

Text přidal IneM

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