Lyrics

It being on the twenty-third of June-o As I sat weaving all on my loom I heard a thrush singing on yon bush And the song she sang was a jug of punch Ladder

About four years ago, I was digging the land with my brogues on my feet and my spade in my hand says I to myself what a pity to see Such a fine strapping l

The lambs on the green hills, they sport and they play And many strawberries grow round the salt sea How sad is my heart when my love is away How many’s th

We sailed out of Dunmore, Michelmas gone by Cowhides and wool and live cargo Twenty young wild geese Ready fledged to fly Sailing for the Lowlands Low Chor

The lark in the morning she arises from her nest And she ascends all in the air with the dew upon her breast And with the pretty ploughboy she’ll whistle a

With your toor-ri-ya fol da-diddle-ya Toor-ri toor-ri toor-ri-ya Now, Mrs. McGrath, Dr. Tierney did brag, Send your so up to college where he can study Ag

Some boyos when they go out courtin’ Sure they haven’t the spunk of a mouse They’ll stand on the corner and whistle They’re afraid to go into the house But

In Dublin’s fair city where the girls are so pretty I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone As she wheels her wheel barrow through the streets broad and

Come all you gallant fishermen that plough the stormy sea, The whole year round on the fishing grounds On the Northern Minch and the Norway Deeps, On the b

Chorus: Oro, oro, oro Abhaile Michael O Ro Se do Bheatha Abhaile But find us bloody work there From Donegal to the County Kerry, From Belfast City to Hills