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Oh farewell you streets of sorrow

And farewell you streets of pain

I`ll not return to feel more sorrow

Nor to see more young men slain

Through the last six years I`ve lived through terror

And in the darkened streets the pain

Oh how I long to find some solace

In my mind I curse the strain



So farewell you streets of sorrow

And farewell you streets of pain

No I`ll not return to feel more sorrow

Nor to see more young men slain



There were six men in Birmingham

In Guildford there`s four

That were picked up and tortured

And framed by the law

And the filth got promotion

But they`re still doing time

For being Irish in the wrong place

And at the wrong time

In Ireland they`ll put you away in the maze

In England they`ll keep you for seven long days

God help you if ever you`re caught on these shores

The coppers need someone

And they walk through that door



You`ll be counting years

First five, then ten

Growing old in a lonely hell

Round the yard and the stinking cell

From wall to wall, and back again



A curse on the judges, the coppers and screws

Who tortured the innocent, wrongly accused

For the price of promotion

And justice to sell

May the judged by their judges when they rot down in hell



May the whores of the empire lie awake in their beds

And sweat as they count out the sins on their heads

While over in Ireland eight more men lie dead

Kicked down and shot in the back of the head

Oh farewell you streets of sorrow

And farewell you streets of pain

I`ll not return to feel more sorrow

Nor to see more young men slain

Through the last six years I`ve lived through terror

And in the darkened streets the pain

Oh how I long to find some solace

In my mind I curse the strain



So farewell you streets of sorrow

And farewell you streets of pain

No I`ll not return to feel more sorrow

Nor to see more young men slain



There were six men in Birmingham

In Guildford there`s four

That were picked up and tortured

And framed by the law

And the filth got promotion

But they`re still doing time

For being Irish in the wrong place

And at the wrong time

In Ireland they`ll put you away in the maze

In England they`ll keep you for seven long days

God help you if ever you`re caught on these shores

The coppers need someone

And they walk through that door



You`ll be counting years

First five, then ten

Growing old in a lonely hell

Round the yard and the stinking cell

From wall to wall, and back again



A curse on the judges, the coppers and screws

Who tortured the innocent, wrongly accused

For the price of promotion

And justice to sell

May the judged by their judges when they rot down in hell



May the whores of the empire lie awake in their beds

And sweat as they count out the sins on their heads

While over in Ireland eight more men lie dead

Kicked down and shot in the back of the head

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