Alan O'LearyHost
It's Kevin Burke singing about his father's arriving, leaving Ireland and arriving in London.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Found for London town He rented the city in search of the star Or maybe a room for the night In his left hand a suitcase of leather and wood And his grandfather's fiddle in his right Through the streets of the bombed out buildings Past the rubble that Hitler blew down A stray away child from the west of Ireland Alone in London town He signed on with a gang of from Dublin The cruelest little tyrant that ever you met Sweating in trenches for twelve hours a day, it was hard work but all he could get.
He'd take out his fiddle when the work was all done, when the shovels and picks were laid down.

It's Kevin Burke singing about his father's arriving, leaving Ireland and arriving in London.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Found for London town He rented the city in search of the star Or maybe a room for the night In his left hand a suitcase of leather and wood And his grandfather's fiddle in his right Through the streets of the bombed out buildings Past the rubble that Hitler blew down A stray away child from the west of Ireland Alone in London town He signed on with a gang of from Dublin The cruelest little tyrant that ever you met Sweating in trenches for twelve hours a day, it was hard work but all he could get.
He'd take out his fiddle when the work was all done, when the shovels and picks were laid down.
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