Oh, it's midnight on the Bowery
And your feet are soakin' wet,
And you've drank your last brass farthin',
You'd sell your soul for a cigarette.
And the sounds from CBGB's are comforting to you.
Then you think of the green fields of Ireland
And you feel forty shades of blue.

Now you're back on the drink since September
And your head feels like a sieve,
And you know that you're goin' from bad to worse
But you just don't give a sh...
And the hymns from the Sally Army
Sound heavenly and true,
Then you think of your friends and your family
And you feel forty shades of blue.

Well you've got a great future behind you
And you're goin' nowhere fast,
Just up and down the Bowery,
From Canal street to pld St. Mark's.
And you wonder what she's up to now,
Did she really find somebody new?
Ah, how the hell could she just walk out like that
When you're forty shades of Blue?

And you wonder, How'd it come to this,
Was it always in the cards?
'Cause working is for idiots
And you love the smell of bars.
And the letters that you sent back home
Were full of all the things you'd done
But they don't say you're down there on Bleecker Street
With your hand out on the b__.

Now the dawn's comin' up on the Bowery
And you're heartsick and soakin' wet,
With your tongue hangin' out for some Irish Rose
You'd sell your soul for a cigarette.
And someday I'm gonna give up this drinkin'
And maybe someday, I'll win the lottery, too.
Then I'll go back home to old Wexford town,
And paint her forty shades of blue.

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