Broad Majestic Shannon
The last time I saw you was down at the Greeks
There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeksYou sang me a song as pure as the breezeBlowing up the road to GlenaveighI sat for a while at the cross at FinnoeWhere young lovers would meet when the flowers were in bloomHeard the men coming home from the fair at ShinroneTheir hearts in Tipperary wherever they goTake my hand, and dry your tears babeTake my hand, forget your fears babeThere's no pain, there's no more sorrowThey're all gone, gone in the years babeI sat for a while by the gap in the wallFound a rusty tin can and an old hurley ballHeard the cards being dealt, and the rosary calledAnd a fiddle playing Sean Dun na nGallAnd the next time I see you we'll be down at the GreeksThere'll be whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeksFor it's stupid to laugh and it's useless to bawlAbout a rusty tin can and an old hurley ballSo I walked as day was dawningWhere small birds sang and leaves were fallingWhere we once watched the row boats landingBy the broad majestic Shannon
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