So pack up your seastores, consider no longer For 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 Amerikay
Farewell to the groves of shellelagh and shamrock Farewell to the wee girls of Ireland all 'round May your hearts be as merry as ever I could wish for When it's far away across the ocean I'm bound
Well, me father is old, and me mother's quite feeble And to leave their own country, it grieves their hearts sore And the tears down their cheeks in great drops are rolling To think they must die upon a foreign shore
The sheep run unsheered and the land's run to rushes The handyman's gone, and the winder of creals Away across the ocean go journeyman tailors And fiddlers that flaked out the old mountain reels
Ah but I mind the day when old Ireland was flourishing And when lots of hard tradesmen did work for good pay Ah but since our manufacturies have crossed the Atlantic Sure it's there we must follow to Amerikay
And it's now to conclude and to finish my story If ever friendless Irishmen chances my way With the best in the house I will greet him and welcome Far away on the green fields of Amerikay