Eastside

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Miodes

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Dance for your daddy my little laddie
Dance for your daddy my little one
You shall have a little fishy on a little dishy
When the boat comes in...

All of his dreams were written on slips
Slips of white paper, he floated like ships
The scratch-cards, the numbers
The race and the draw 
Every week they were crumpled 
And thrown on the floor

Monday the horses
Tuesday the dogs
Wednesday the arcade - to spin the fruit cogs
Thursday the Bingo
Friday the brokers
(With the last of the brass tongues and pokers)
Saturday the lottery - and another sod has got the nod
Sunday to Church and pray
(So help me God)

I need some money for plumbers to mend
I need some presents for children to send
I want a house with a garden I'll trim
Oh when will that bloody boat come in?

There goes the brewery
There go the pubs
No rolling barrels and empty the tubs
There go the shipyards
There go the docks
And those boats they never more come in

They found him in the evening
With a tinny on the go
The credits were running on 
A television show
There were odds - there were evens
Down the cracks of his chair
And a stack of bills
But no winnings there

He died, he died
Waiting for his boat to come in
Down came his sweet chariot
But his boat it never did come in

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