| Farewell to old Ireland, the land of my childhood
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| Which now and forever I am going to leave
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| Farewell to the shores, where the shamrock is growing
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| It’s the bright spot of beauty and the home of the brave
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| I’ll think on its valleys with fond admiration
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| Though never again its bright hills will I see
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| I’m bound for to cross the wide swelling ocean
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| In search of fame and fortune and of sweet liberty
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| Our ship at the present lies in Derry harbour
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| To bear us away across the wide swelling sea
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| May heaven be her companion and grant her fair breezes
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| Till we reach the green fields of America
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| It’s hard to be forced from the land that we live in
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| Our houses and farms all obiged for to sell
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| To wander along among Indians and strangers
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| To find some sweet spot where our children might dwell
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| Our artists, our farmers, our tradesmen are leaving
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| To seek for employment far over the sea
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| Where they’ll get their riches with care and with industry
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| There’s nothing but hardship at home if you stay
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| So cheer up your spirits, you lads and you lasses
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| There’s gold for the digging and lots of it, too
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| A health to the heart that has courage to ramble
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| Bad luck to the lad or the lass that would rue
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| We’ll call for a bumper of ale, wine and brandy
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| We’ll drink to the health of those far away
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| Our hearts will all warm at the thought of old Ireland
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| When we’re on the green fields of Americay |