| As I went down to Galway Town
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| To seek for recreation
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| On the seventeenth of August
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| Me mind being elevated
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| There were passengers a**embled
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| With their tickets at the station
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| And me eyes began to dazzle
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| And they off to see the races
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| With me wack fol the do fol
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| The diddle idle day
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| There were passengers from Limerick
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| And passengers from Nenagh
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| The boys of Connemara
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| And the Clare unmarried maiden
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| There were people from Cork City
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| Who were loyal, true and faithful
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| Who brought home the Fenian prisoners
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| From dying in foreign nations
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| And it’s there you’ll see the pipers
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| And the fiddlers competing
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| And the sporting wheel of fortune
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| And the four and twenty quarters
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| And there’s others without scruple
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| Pelting wattles at poor Maggie
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| And her father well contented
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| And he gazing at his daughter
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| And it’s there you’ll see the jockeys
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| And they mounted on so stably
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| The pink, the blue, the orange, and green
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| The colors of our nation
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| The time it came for starting
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| All the horses seemed impatient
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| Their feet they hardly touched the ground
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| The speed was so amazing!
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| There was half a million people there
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| Of all denominations
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| The Catholic, the Protestant, the Jew, the Presbyterian
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| Yet there was no animosity
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| No matter what persuasion
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| But failte hospitality
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| Inducing fresh acquaintance |