Different Drummer (Black 47)

“Different Drummer” Sheet Music (pdf).
“Different Drummer” Karaoke (midi with lyrics).

Lyrics: Larry Kirwan.
Tune: Larry Kirwan.


Born on a black Monday, me mother screamin’ curses,
Me ould lad in the pub, losin’ money on the horses.
Me granny kicked in the door, said, “Get a job, you bastard.”
And I come rollin’ into the world, a walkin’, talkin’ disaster….

With a foot on the flute and a twiddle on the fiddle-o.
Music in my soul and a beat on me boom box.
Oh, up, down, turn around, crash into the wall.
Dancin’ to the beat of me own diff’rent drummer-o.

At the age of sixteen years, I was apprenticed to a grocer,
But they never knew me name. All they wanted was “yes” and “no, sir.”
So I bought a cheap guitar. I learned to write me poetry.
And me and rock and roll set off to see the country-o.

We played in pubs and dance halls. We even played in brothels.
I learned all about the good life through the ass end of a bottle.
I learned about love from many’s the fine lady.
But I was always searchin’ for me one true darlin’ baby….

With a toot on the flute and a twiddle on the fiddle-o.
Music in me soul and a beat on me boom box.
Oh, up, down, turn around, crash into the wall.
Dancin’ to the beat of me own diff’rent drummer-o.

Oh, I searched from coast to coast from Florida to Canada
With me heart upon me sleeve, screamin’ out, “Hi, where are yeh?”
’Til I went home with a six-foot girl from the South Side of Chicago.
But it turned out she was a man. Oh, can you imagine the disaster?

But the sweetest girl of all was from the State of California.
Ah, she took me home to bed, kept me rockin’ ’til the mornin’
’Til the door came crashin’ in in the midst of me shenanigans
And her husband beat me up so bad I’ll never get it up again….

With a toot on the flute and a twiddle on the fiddle-o.
Music in me soul and a beat on me boom box.
Oh, up, down, turn around, crash into the wall.
Dancin’ to the beat of me own diff’rent drummer-o.

Oh, I’m goin’ back to Brooklyn with me tail between me legs.
Oh, I’m givin’ up this rock and roll. ’Tis far too dang’rous work.
Oh, stay at your steady jobs, me boys. Get married and have babies.
And keep the hell away from those California ladies….

With a toot on the flute and a twiddle on the fiddle-o.
Music in me soul and a beat on me boom box.
Oh, up, down, turn around, crash into the wall.
Dancin’ to the beat of me own diff’rent drummer-o.


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