| Farewell to you old Ireland since I must go away
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| I now shake hands and bid goodbye and can no longer stay
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| Our big ship lies in deep Lough Foyle bound for the New York shore
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| And I must go from all I know and lovely Moneymore
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| That little town encircled round with many’s the grove and hill
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| Where lads and lassies they do meet for pleasure there’s the rule
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| Through Springhill Braes and flowery fields where oft I’ve wandered o’er
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| And by my side was the girl I loved the rose of Moneymore
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| How lonely is the pigeon’s coo and sad the blackbirds lay
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| And loud and high the thrushes cry on a long bright summer’s day
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| And as I sat down to cry me fill sure the tears come trickling down
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| For in the morning I must leave you my own dear native town
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| Kind friends I’ll bid you all adieu I can no longer stay
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| Our big ship sails tomorrow and its time I was away
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| So fill your glasses to the brim and toast with one loud roar
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| And we’ll sing in praise of Springhill Braes and lovely Moneymore |