I'Ll Always Be A Migrant From Duhallow

I've travelled far from the fields near Ballydaly and that green country west of Millstreet Town And as in Duhallow far beyond Duhallow's borders for every up in life there is a down, I left in search of fame and fortune but found neither though than me there are many far more poor And without me life goes on by Clara mountain and birds sing on the hedgerows of Annagloor. I've mixed with and got to know people of every Nation and I've learned that there's more good than bad in every race And every migrant has in them nostalgia a certain fondness of the old Homeplace It is in those who migrate through lust for wander and you will even find it in the refugee You won't find many who don't love their Homeland though they fled from there to escape fear and poverty. I have fond memories of a Boyhood close to Nature and to the old fields the Seasons come and go And old Caherbarnagh on Sliabh Luachra's border in Winter always wear his hat of snow But Spring she spreads her greeness in Duhallow and birds sing in the wood and on the hedgerow And dipper in the stream can be heard singing on rock where waters swirl around and flow. I'll always be a migrant from Duhallow in this great Southern Land of the grey kangaroo And where I came from the Winters are far colder with temperatures as low as minus two But through the Spring the blackbird's song sounds sweeter in the high wood by ancient Clara hill And swallows chirp and fly above the old fields and flowers are blooming by the mountain rill. And though I too love this sunny Southern Country and this great Country has been good to me Like every migrant I too love my Homeland and I think about the days that used to be When as a boy on sunny Summer evenings I went out hunting with Pudsy my brown dog In Claraghatlea and Shannaknuck and Liscreagh and in the rushy fields by Coolikerane bog.