The mountain stream from rugged hill from place of brier and bushes
Flow inland through the small green fields though water reeds and rushes
And songbirds flushed with joys of spring in green hedgerows pipe gaily
Thousands of miles from gum tree land back home near Ballydaly.
The skylark in the morning sky towards higher world is winging
And higher, higher he keeps flying and fainter grow his singing
Till he is gone from naked eye in grey clouds disappearing
To wake the angels from their dreams to heaven's gate he's nearing.
The hill farmer on small tractor whistles his favourite ditty
He works his small farm on his own his son works in the city
His daugters live beyond the seas, his wife his house is keeping
And the brush of immigration from the land the youth still sweeping.
For want of better livelihood 'my only explanation'
Forced me to leave my own homeland still Europe's poorest Nation
A green land old and beautiful that should have much to offer
But bad Governments and greedy men drained it's financial coffer.
In Caher bog i still can hear the lonely curlew calling
And get sweet scent of bog cotton as Summer mist is falling
And though i live in a distant land joy waves in my heart rising
For i oft times return home when i start visualizing.
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