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

The Green Fields Of Canada - Cherish The Lad