|
Good old friends and the fellowship of men
We gather round the fireplace tonight
And try to find a meaning in the flames,
Outside there’s a cold moon and starlight
And round us the cows that have no names.
Our legs are tired from walking the glen
But there’s a bottle or two of Black Label,
And we’ll pour it out until we say when
And slouch down with our feet on the table.
We’ll talk of memories shared and unshared
There’s always a girl or something’s missing
And together our souls will be bared
When Pete gets his guitar and we’ll sing...
Chorus
Of good old friends and the fellowship of men,
We’ll sing to the top of our lungs,
And when we’re quiet we’ll let the tender caress
Of whisky roll round our tongues.
Now poor old Jack just got divorced
He was married to a real honey,
Now he knows there’s a thing you can’t force
And alimony sounds like All – The – Money.
And Fred hates his job in real estate,
He’s getting bored out of his mind,
He wants to get out but knows it’s too late
And all the time he’s being left behind.
And Andy whose farmhouse this is
Seems to have an excess of success,
His life has the glamour of showbiz
But in fact it’s a real mess.
But now for this moment together
We can forget about everything
And we are all wondering whether
Pete will get his guitar so we can sing...
Chorus
Of good old friends and the fellowship of men
We’ll sing to the top of our lungs
And when we’re quiet we’ll let the tender caress
Of whisky roll round our tongues.
Now the embers are burning down low,
We’re too tired to get wood from the shed.
But while the whisky drams still flow
No-one will be the first to go to bed.
And our talk is pushing back the night
And our problems seem far away
And suddenly the world seems alright,
We’ll live to fight another day.
We’ll talk of memories shared and unshared
There’s always a girl or something’s missing
And together our souls will be bared
As Pete gets his guitar and we sing...
Chorus
Of good old friends and the fellowship of men
We’ll sing to the top of our lungs
And when we’re quiet we’ll let the tender caress
Of whisky roll round our tongues,
Of good old friends and the fellowship of men
And good old times, ‘cos good old times are here again. |
