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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