| There are wild and rocky hills on the coast of Donegal
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| And her fishermen are hardy, brave and free
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| And the big Atlantic swell is a thing they know right well
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| As they fight to take a living from the sea
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| With a pleasant rolling sea and the herring running free
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| And the fleet all riding gently through the foam
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| When the boats are loaded down, there’ll be singing in the town
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| When the boys of Killybegs come rolling home
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| Well, you don your rubber boots and you’ve got your oilskins on
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| And you check your gear to see that it’s okay
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| And your jumper keep you warm, for it’s cold before the dawn
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| Then you’re ready to begin another day
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| Now, you’re headed out to sea and the wind is blowing free
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| And you cast your nets as rain begins to fall
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| But, the sun comes riding high and the clouds will soon roll by
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| And today you’ll maybe take a bumper haul
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| When the weather’s blowing rough, then the work is very tough
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| And the ropes will raise the welts upon your hands
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| But you’ll never leave the sea, for whoever you may be
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| When it’s in your blood, it’s hard to live on land
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| Oh, there’s purple on the hills and there’s green down by the shore
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| And the sun has spilled his gold upon the sea
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| And there’s silver down below, where the herring fishes go
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| When we catch them, we’ll have gold for you and me |