It is a far smaller cuckoo singing on the wattle tree
From the cuckoo that she once knew when she lived in Derrinagree
And his song is very different cuckoo cuckoo he never say
This bird has a high pitched whistle that he repeats through the day.
Far from North Cork and Duhallow where she lived long years ago
And the old fields green and fertile where the great Blackwater flow
Towards where it flows into the sea at Youghal it ever journeys on it's way
When she left her old home Village flowers were blooming in the May.
Sixteen years out of Duhallow seems a lengthy span of time
Thirty five on her last birthday she has now passed her life's prime
Married to an Aussie fellow with a boy of ten and a girl of nine
She is happy living east of Melbourne for the old home she does not pine.
Attractive, brown haired and a nice person free of guile and self conceit
From Derrinagree in Duhallow five or six miles from Millstreet
In Victoria she raises her children and she is happy with her lot in life
And to a decent Aussie fellow she is a devoted wife.
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