I'll speak to you of Belfast, stranger, if you want to know:
So listen and I'll tell you why I love this city so.

BELFAST...is an Ulsterman, with features dour & grim:
A pint of creamy porter, a Sunday morning hymn:

A steaming pastie supper, or vinegar with peas:
A little grimy cafe where they'll they serve you farmhouse teas:

A banner on July the Twelfth, a sticky toffee apple:
An ancient little Gospel Hall, a Roman Catholic chapel:

A Telly boy with dirty face, a slice of apple tart:
A fry upon a Saturday, hot "coal-breek" on a cart:

A Corporation gas-man, complete with bowler hat:
A wee shop on a corner with a friendly bit of chat:

An oul' lad in a duncher, a woman in a shawl:
A pinch of snuff, a tatie farl, a loyal Orange Hall:

A tobacco smell in York St., a bag of yella man:
An Easter egg that dyed in whin, a slice of Ormo pan:

A youngster with some sprickly begs inside a wee jam-jar:
A meeting at the Custom House, an old Victorian bar:

Mud-banks on the Lagan, when the tide is running low:
A man collecting "refuse", bonfires on Sandy Row:

A bag of salty dullis, a bowl of Irish stew:
A goldfish down in Gresham St., a preacher at the queue:

A portrait of King Billy upon a gable wall:
A flower-seller on a stool outside the City Hall:

A half-moon round a doorstep, a polis-man on guard:
A pedlar crying "Delph for rags" a little whitewashed yard:

So there's your answer, stranger & now I'm sure you'll see, why Belfast is the only place in all the world for me.

Brings back memories of the Ritz & Belfast in the old times.