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Patron Saint o' thieves - The Rumjacks



     
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Patron Saint o' thieves Lyrics


Auld Nick patron saint o thieves, murderers & sailors
Strike these shackles from me uh-huh
Slide the bolt from out the door & tear down all the wire
My baby's growin cold & I'm on fire
The wind that whistles off the hills & carries her perfume
Carries too a lonely carol badly out of tune
For just tonight beyond them walls I'd lay a mountain low
And sing to her like only I know howThey dont hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars
So ill burn a paper lamp for her to see
Though shes left like a widow of a war that never was
Theres a light still burns in meAuld Nick patron saint o' merchants, pawnmen & the judges
Who barter with the lives o men the battlers & the bludgers
Go haunt the dogs awhile they sleep & thrash em round to sense
Theres to many good boys this side of the fence
They dont hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars
So ill burn a paper lamp for her to see
Though shes left like a widow of a war that never was
Theres a light still burns in meTheres boys in here for liftin gear from non-be-wary strangers

Newly minted ner-do-wells & them born with the dangers
For livin less than fruitful lives, toppin less than faithful wives
A broken line o' fools that span the agesThey dont hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars
So ill burn a paper lamp for her to see
Though shes left like a widow of a war that never was
Theres a light still burns in meAuld Nick patron saint o' fools from both sides of the law
For his sake wipe the dirty grin off that fat bastards jaw
For we're lovers of tradition & we might yet find a way
To hold them bloody keys come boxing day
They dont hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars
So ill burn a paper lamp for her to see
Though shes left like a widow of a war that never was
Theres a light still burns in meThey dont hang no fairy lights these rusty iron bars
So ill burn a paper lamp for her to see
Though shes left like a widow of a war that never was
Theres a light still burns in meBurn it boys!

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There is an old Gaelic proverb, “No wonder that the cask smells of the herring that it holds,” and no truer statement could be made about the music of Sydney Gaelic-punks, The Rumjacks. The Rumjacks are a celtic, folk, punk band incorporating banjo, tin whistle and mandolin with roaring guitars and crashing drums into their sound.

Having spent the last few years peddling their blue collar brand of folkloric 'rotgut n' roll'...

Read more about The Rumjacks on Last.fm.


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The Rumjacks