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<pre><font size='+2'>ALRIGHT lyrics BRAINERS</font><br>From: Derek Gross <br />
My youngest song came home today<br />
His friends marched with him all the way<br />
The fife and drum beat out the time<br />
While in his box of polished pine<br />
Like dead meat on a butcher`s tray<br />
My youngest son came home today<br />
My youngest son was a fine young man<br />
With a wife, a daughter and two sons<br />
And a man he would have lived and died<br />
Till by a bullet sanctified<br />
Now he`s a saint or so they say<br />
They brought their young saint home today<br />
An Irish sky looks down and weeps<br />
Upon the narrow Belfast streets<br />
At children`s blood in gutters spilled<br />
In dreams of glory unfulfilled<br />
As part of freedom`s price to pay<br />
My youngest son came home today<br />
My youngest son came home today<br />
His friends marched with him all the way<br />
The pipe and drum beat out the time<br />
While in his box of polished pine<br />
Like dead meat on a butcher`s tray<br />
My youngest son came home today<br />
And this time he`s here to stay<br />
Words and music by Eric Bogle<br />
Appears on Billy Bragg`s _The Internationale_<br />
and some album(s) of Eric Bogle`s<br><br><a href='http://www.lyricsbay.com' target='_blank'>LyricsBay</a> | <a href="http://www.lyricsbay.com/alright_lyrics-brainers.html" target='_blank'>ALRIGHT lyrics BRAINERS</a></pre>

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Alright lyrics translation:
BRAINERS Alright song texte and letras
BRAINERS Alright tab, paroles and testo
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Alright lyrics

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From: Derek Gross
My youngest song came home today
His friends marched with him all the way
The fife and drum beat out the time
While in his box of polished pine
Like dead meat on a butcher`s tray
My youngest son came home today
My youngest son was a fine young man
With a wife, a daughter and two sons
And a man he would have lived and died
Till by a bullet sanctified
Now he`s a saint or so they say
They brought their young saint home today
An Irish sky looks down and weeps
Upon the narrow Belfast streets
At children`s blood in gutters spilled
In dreams of glory unfulfilled
As part of freedom`s price to pay
My youngest son came home today
My youngest son came home today
His friends marched with him all the way
The pipe and drum beat out the time
While in his box of polished pine
Like dead meat on a butcher`s tray
My youngest son came home today
And this time he`s here to stay
Words and music by Eric Bogle
Appears on Billy Bragg`s _The Internationale_
and some album(s) of Eric Bogle`s

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