Freeman - Fiddler's Green

I met him on the motorway, said he was a free man

And did I have a cigarette

Hed been all over travelling, looking for a little gold

He said with a laugh, I found nothing yet

He had to get out of Ireland

The police there theyve got a lot of tricks

They give a dog a bad name —

You better believe that it always sticks

And he was worried about the rain

Lord, hed never seen it rain so hard

And I was thinking about that flame that burned in his heart

Hed heard about a job in London town

He hit the road from Liverpool

But if your name is Pat or Michael

Some men treat you like a fool

And he loved to hear old Brady sing

He knew all the words to Arthur Mc Bride

And when I put it on my stereo

Old man broke right down and cried

He talked about a bar he knew in Dublin

Lord, he wished we were there tonight

And we talked about the travelling —

Sooner or later were gonna get it right

When I left him on that same motorway

It was a bright cafe in a dark night

And as I turned away to leave him

He said, Lady Luck may she treat you right