| Oh the old turf fire
|
| And the hearth swept clean
|
| There’s no-one so contented as myself and Paddy Keane
|
| The baby in the cradle
|
| You can hear it’s mammy say
|
| Ah will you go to sleep alanna
|
| While I wet your daddy’s tea
|
| Now I’ve got a little house and land
|
| As neat as it can be
|
| You’ll never see the likes of it
|
| This side of Lisnakea
|
| No piano in the corner
|
| And no pictures on the wall
|
| But I’m happy and contented
|
| In my little cottage hall
|
| Now the man that I work for
|
| Of noble blood is he
|
| But somethin' I’ll be tellin' you
|
| We never can agree
|
| He has big towering mansions
|
| He has castles great and tall
|
| But I wouldn’t change the roof that crowns
|
| My own cottage hall
|
| Oh the old turf fire
|
| And the hearth swept clean
|
| There’s no-one so contented as myself and Paddy Keane
|
| The baby in the cradle
|
| You can hear it’s mammy say
|
| Ah will you go to sleep alanna
|
| While I wet your daddy’s tea
|
| Round the old turf fire
|
| Sit the old folk, bent with years
|
| As they watch us trippin' lightly
|
| They’re smilin' thro' their tears
|
| So sadly they are dreaming
|
| Of their youthful heart’s desire —
|
| In those dear old days so long ago
|
| Around the old turf fire |