Farewell to hard times, song

Joe Mulheron, singing in English
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I was born in the middle of Belfast
In a red bricked house in a wee cobbled street
Two bedrooms and a kitchen and a parlour
And the jaw box was our bathroom ensuite.

In charge of housing the Belfast Corporation
Al Capone would have shook in his shoes
The only public houses in Belfast
Had high stools a lounge bar and sold booze.

Well they sent for the planners and the architects
Fine houses for all they would make
Once they sent us to hell or to Connaught
Ay Turf Lodge or Ballymurphy estate.

Ah but the people said no to these nightmares
And demanded they all be pulled down
They turned us all in to Artic explorers
To the north pole or Twin Brook we’re bound.

Well I’m going back where I come from
To no more foreign parts will I roam
For trying to get tick at a mobile
It’s like trying to get blood from a stone.

But they have built a big motorway
Ah right where our streets used to be
Tell my friends did they ask your permission
Ah they sure as hell never asked me.

Ah the half bap
Carrick Lower the Shankill are gone
The explorers will soon come in search of us
Like the tribes of the lost Amazon.

When the people take over in Ireland
And the planners are tried for war crimes
There’ll be justice and jobs and good neighbours
And we’ll say forever farewell to hard times.