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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 341 |
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"God save ye, colleen dhas," I said: the girls he
thought me wild ! For Corrytneela, an' the low south wind.
D'ye mind me now, the song at night is mortial hard
to raise, The girls are heavy goin' here, the boys are ill to
plase; When ones't I'm out this workin' hive, 'tis I'll be
back again — Ay, Corrymeela, in the same soft rain.
The puff o' smoke from one ould roof before an English Town !
For a shaugh wid Andy Feelan here I'd give a silver crown,
For a curl o' hair like Mollie's ye'll ask the like in vain —
Sweet Corrymeela, an' the same soft rain.
JOHNEEN
S
URE, he's five months, an' he's two foot long, Baby Johneen; Watch yerself now, for he's terrible sthrong, Baby Johneen. An' his fists 'ill he up if ye make any slips, He has finger ends like the daisy-tips, But he'll have ye attend to the words of his lips, Will Johneen.
There's nobody can rightly tell the color of his eyes, This Johneen; |
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