Farewell to Poor Ireland

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Krunchie Killeen

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Farewell to poor Ireland, where Spring is oh, so fair
Where farmers have no bosses, but are free as the air
Collect the seaweed, dig the spuds, cut and cock the hay
Though the work is hard, with low reward, I wish that I could stay
My curse upon the curraghs, but not the big strong boats;
My curse upon the curraghs along Conamara’s coast
In that wee craft on the murderous sea my four fine brothers drowned
And Kelly does not care a whit, for he made their farm his own
O, life is hard in Boston; the bosses tough and cruel
They make you earn each penny, and call you a dolt and fool;
And every hard-earned dollar that you manage to bring home
The men will drink it in the pub, for they've no work of their own
And why did no one tell me this, before I left my home?
My cousins, neighbours, friends and priest all urging me to go
I set out on a sailing ship, with a heart that was filled with hope
Until hardship and misfortune, they sent me scurrying home
My curse upon the curraghs, but not the great big boats;
My curse upon the curraghs along Conamara’s coast
A disaster in that fragile craft sent me across the foam
Away from Poor Ireland I will always call my home
I will always call my home

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