In the Irish Bar, it was wall-to-wall Never seen so many there before Every seat was gone, everyone came down On the night the BBC came to town

There were soloists, there were groups and bands, There were pedal boards and music stands, There was standing up, there was sitting down, On the night the BBC came to town

It was one song each it must be your own, Some were sung with heart, some were read off phones While the same four chords went round and round On the night the BBC came to town

And the drinks were drunk as the night rolled on And the young ones left soon as they had sung There were one or two who politely stuck around On the night the BBC came to town

To a petty few, I sang my best, But by then BBC had left And the singers we had heard that day Would not return next week nor ever again

In the Irish Bar, many weeks have passed And it’s pretty quiet if you haven’t guessed Now that Irish bar has been shut down Since the night the BBC came to town