The Green Fields of Canada

Farewell to the groves of shillelagh and shamrock
 Farewell to the wee girls of old Ireland all 'round
 May their hearts be as merry as ever I would wish them
 When far, far away across the ocean I'm bound
 Oh my father is old, and my mother is quite feeble
 To leave their own country, it grieves their heart sore
 Oh the tears in great drops down their cheeks, they are rolling
 To think they must die upon some foreign shore
 But what matters to me where my bones may be buried
 If in peace and contentment I can spend my life
 Oh the green fields of Canada, they daily are blooming
 And it's there I'll put an end to my miseries and strife
 So pack up your sea stores and tarry no longer
 Ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay
 With no taxes or tithes to devour up your wages
 When you're on the green fields of America
 The sheep run unshorn, and the land's gone to rushes
 The handyman is gone, and the winders of creels
 Away across the ocean go journeyman tailors
 And fiddlers that play out the old mountain reels
 Farewell to the dances in homes now deserted
 When tips struck the lightening in sparks from the floor
 The paving and crigging of hobnails on flagstones
 The tears of the old folk and shouts of encore
 For the landlords and bailiffs in vile combination
 Have forced us from hearth stone and homestead away
 May the crowbar brigade all be doomed to damnation
 When we're on the green fields of America
 And it's now to conclude and to finish my story
 If e'er friendless Irishmen chance my way
 With the best in the house I will treat him and welcome
 At home in the green fields of America
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