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Song Lyric
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A brand new pair of brogues rattlin' o'er the bogs / And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin
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A ship lies in Fairbury harbor / Barely safe over the foam / But to Halifax town / I soon will be bound / Far away from me native home
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My father was an Ulster man, proud Protestant was he / My mother was a Catholic girl, from County Cork was she
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I'm workin' here in Glasgow and I've got a decent job / I'm carryin' bricks and mortar and the pay is fifteen bob
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He robbed the rich, to help the poor, he shot Judge McEvoy / A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy
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In a neat little town they call Belfast / Apprentice to a trade I was bound / And many's an hour's sweet happiness / Have I spent in this neat little town
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And once I went over the ocean / Being bound for the proud land of Spain / Some singing and dancing for pleasure / But I had a heart full of pain
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The comforts I would seek most, you all may understand / Is that lovely maid called Martha, she's the flower of sweet Strabane
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I told her nice and gently that my heart would never stray / From the rose of county Derry and me Kitty of Kilrea
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With an aching heart I'll bid them adieu / For tomorrow we sail far away / O'er the raging foam, to seek a home / On the shores of Americay
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She's young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann / She's the star of the County Down
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Together we'll go ridin' o'er the mountains of Kilkenny / Oh, I know he'll treat me better than my darlin' sportin' Jenny
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I've traveled east I've traveled west / I've roamed from town to town / I've cut the harvest down in Claire / Met people of renown
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We sailed our ship up the Hudson River / To the wild Atlantic we said farewell / On Staten Island when we landed / There we had our tale to tell
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For policemen all from Donegal, Sligo and Leitrim too / We'll give them the slip and we'll take a little sip / Of the rare old mountain dew
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I left Ireland evermore / And sailed off to a foreign shore / Many young men of twenty said goodbye
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"Come home to Bantry Bay," she cried, a hundred times or more / "Come home before you lose your way upon some foreign shore"
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The good ship lies ready at anchor / We sail with the tide in the morn / Across the Atlantic to Boston / And to 'Frisco around by Cape Horn
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