Oh I Must Go Home To Millstreet

The singing birds of Millstreet are calling, calling me In my dreams I hear them whistling far beyond the deep wide sea The green, green wood by Clara hill is always on my mind On the day that I left Millstreet I left my heart behind. Buttercups bloomed by the grass fringed rills and larks piped in the skies As I said goodbye to Clara hill with teardrops in my eyes The blue bluebells were blooming along the green bohreens On the day that I bade farewell to Millstreet and her meadows and her streams. The farmers mow the lush green meads that surround Millstreet Town As the heathery face of Clara on them lovingly looks down The shlaun men shlaun the shiny dark peat and the pikes are on the sway In Gneeves bog outside of Millstreet on this bright Summer's day. Oh I must go back to Ireland to the Land where I was born Just to hear again the birds sing on a Spring like April morn Oh I must go home to Millstreet for 'tis there I'd love to die And be buried under Millstreet earth beneath an Irish sky.