The wanderlust was in my heart and I had dreams to follow
And I am one who has ventured far from my old home in Duhallow
But each time I hear the blackbird pipe my thoughts afar go winging
To the high wood by Clara hill where I heard his kin bird singing.
The non fishing kingfishers the kookaburras I hear them laughing daily
It's a different world to from where I came from back home near Ballydaly
And yet I love this southern land for the warmth of the weather
The lark doesn't sing now far away above the snow clad heather
That accent that I brought with me it never will forsake me
It will be with me till the end until the reaper take me
I feel it has not changed at all when heard on the tape recorder
It's roots are far away from here on the Cork and Kerry border.
A migrant in this southern land I'm just one of the many
And I feel happy with my lot regrets I haven't any
And though I've not gone back home in Spring like the migrant dark winged swallow
I'll always be one from far north of here a rhymer from Duhallow.
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