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Farewell to the groves of shillelagh and shamrock
Farewell to the wee girls of old Ireland all round
May their hearts be as merry as ever I would wish them
When far far away across the ocean I'm bound
Oh my father is old and my mother is quite feeble
To leave their own country it grieves their hearts sore
Oh the tears in great drops down their cheeks they are rolling
To think they must die upon some foreign shore
But what matters to me where my bones may be buried
If in peace and contentment I can spend my life
Oh the green fields of Canada they daily are blooming
It's there I'll put an end to my miseries and strife
so pack up your seastores and tarry no longer
Ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay
With no taxes or tithes to devour up your wages
When you're on the green fields of Amerikay
The sheep run unshorn and the land's gone to rushes
The handyman's gone and the winders of creels
Away across the ocean good journeyman tailors
And fiddlers that play out the old mountain tunes.
Farewell to the dances in homes now deserted,
When tips struck the lightening in splanks from the floor,
The paving and rigging of hobnails on flagstones
The tears of the old folk and shouts of encore
For the landlords and bailiffs in vile combination
Have forced us from hearthstone and homestead away
May the crowbar brigade all be doomed to damnation
When we're on the green fields of Americay.
And it's now to conclude and to finish my story
If ever friendless Irishmen chances my way
With the best in the house I will treat him, and welcome
At home in the green fields of Amerikay.
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