| lyric | Go sell the pig and cow a ghrá to take you far away.
For your poor parents you must leave behind.
Go seek your fortune darling in the land beyond the sea.
For in Paddy’s land ’tis poverty you’ll find.
Those were the words my father said
when I left old Ireland’s shore.
And his sad farewell is in my mem’ry still.
So I packed my bundle on my back
and left for ever more,
the little old mud cabinon the hill.
The roof is thatched with straw,
the walls are white as snow,
And the turf fire boils the pot- I see it still,
For old Ireland's graven on my heart,
the place Where Iwas born,
In that little old mud cabin on the hill.
I think I see the turf fire, it attracts my father's gaze,
And my dear old mother sitting by his side;
His pipe is lit, the smoke ascends, he's thinking of the time
That took his darling boy beyond the tide.
No more I'll join the merry dance upon the cabin floor,
To music of the bagpipes loud and shrill,
No more I'll see those happy times I spent in days of yore
In that little old mud cabin on the hill. |