THE BULLINGDON

In the days when
Frankie Goes to Hollywood
was charting,
Late at night
Joe would call out
"A taxi for Dublin Martin!"

Nephew Tony filled the pint jugs
to the brim with ice,
he said it cooled the glass down
and made the Guinness taste nice.

Around an open fire
Out the back of all the bars,
Blues tunes were strummed
On broken string guitars.

Behind drawn curtains
That kept out the night
Martin would order
"Another pint of shite!"

He would stand by his bar stool
Hands in is coat
And have us all spellbound
With Paddy McGynties Goat

The atmosphere was always thick
The creative juices flowed
Until the dawning sun came up
Along the Cowley Road

To that Bodhrán beat
We'd stamp our feet
Under pictures of Shaw and Yates
Joe would do his 'bit on the side'
As the evening became late

Many faces passed through there
Some are not with us now
But we'll never forget the Bullingdon
When it had its finest hour

On nights when things got out of hand
And the strummers turned into a 20 piece band
Music poured out over the land
Along the Cowley Road

As the Guinness flowed
We used to play pool
As some one sang
"You're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool"

All the women there were cool
Given the respect they were owed
Until the morning sun came up
Over the Cowley road

In its glory, at its best
It was like the 'cool aid Guiness test'
The days were short, the nights were long
In Joe Ryan's Bullingdon

Now it has gone
But respects are owed
To Joe Ryan, The Bullingdon
And the Cowley Road.