From the recording Tightrope


My name is Frank the Tramp O’Dea and I’m not here to beg
I’ve lived here since the day I dropped from between my mother’s legs
I’ve never been to London, I’ve never seen New York
My boots have never left this town
I’ve never had such luck

I knew your father a straight and honest man
Saw him fight Dylan, Blake and Considine
It’s not that he liked fighting, it’s not that he had shame
Generous as the ocean he’d give you the time of day

I used to sing a song, would bring water to your eyes
A song of persecution, love lost and lies
It’s not that I’m a singer, I’ve never had a voice
But I’d three times the passion and made twice as much noise
With the boys

I’m the seventh son of a sixth I didn’t get that far
That I could give the cure in exchange for a couple of jars
You asked me have I ever loved, to that I’ll tell you yes
She died when she was seventeen
From a burning in her chest.

I’m getting out, I’m getting out
I’ll show them what it’s all about
My brother’s in the Rockies digging gold.