Lyrics

Dante's Local [Back]
(words and music by Neil Anderson ©1999 unReelmusic/BMI)

there's a grand little pub at the end of the world
tucked in between heaven and hell
the stout and the porter are the best you will find
it attracts the most odd clientele;
there's never a last call cause they never shut down
the craic's always ninety and then-
just when you think you can't take anymore
they set you back up again;

(chorus) and I'll never stand for words I can't defend-
and you know that you must sign for all the money that you spend-
the end of this party is the gravedigger's song-
it's the last one we'll sing as we shuffle along--

now I've lived my whole life by the 'piper's own creed
the one law by which I am bound
and that's take what you can and you'll get what you need
a truer thing I've never found;
I've been beaten and stoned as I've traveled this world
I've pissed away fortune and fame-
but I stand at the bar with a smile on my face
cause I know judgment's part of the game;

(bridge) there's whiskey on the table and readies on the bar
whatever you're into you won't have to look far
just be careful who you talk to
cause you never know who they really are;

drivin' through the open market
find a space I stop I park it
look around, you know the deal
gotta keep it on an even keel;
see a vision, I stop and stare
wanna speak but I don't dare-
wind up in the barley river
another taker without a giver;

(chorus) and it's just another night-
just another night in 5 Points-
just another night-
in 5 Points--

down on the corner of Harden and Greene
I walk into 'Group' and I check out the scene
my head is full of fiddle tunes
ancient tomes and silent runes;
tryin' to make the right connection
yet at the same time avoid detection-
I never seem to get it right
no matter how hard I fight;

(bridge) sweet misery in the southland, echoes of the war
preachers on the sidewalk tryin' to tell us what we're here for
debutantes and renegades, drunkards and fools
down here it's so easy to make your own rules;

and while I'm sittin' on this soundstage playin' 'Whiskey in the Jar'
in my mind I'm behind the wheel of a very fast car
and I'm drivin, I'm drivin- can't say where
don't really know, and I don't really care at all;

young black man buskin'- down on Saluda Street
beat up old banjo, taps on his feet
some think he's funny, others just sad
his soul shines through his music, that makes me glad
there he stands, on the outside lookin' in
playin' for pennies or the smile of a friend
he needs a gig and brother, so do I
sometimes you laugh about it, sometimes you gotta cry;