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Farewell to you old Ireland since I must go away.
I'll now shake hands and bid goodbye I can no longer stay.
Our big ship lies in deep Lough Foyle bound for the New York shore.
And I must go from all I know and lovely Moneymore.
That little town encircled round with manys the grove and hill.
Where lads and lassies there do meet for pleasure fair's the rule.
Through Springhill braes and flowery fields where oft I've wandered o'er.
And by my side was the girl I loved the Rose of Moneymore.
How lonely is the pigeons coo and sad the blackbird's lay.
And loud and high the thrush's cry on a long bright summer's day.
And as I sat down to cry me fill sure the tears came trickling down.
For in the morn I must leave you my own dear native town.
Kind friends I'll bid you all goodbye I can no longer stay.
Our big ship sails tomorrow and it's time I was away.
So fill your glasses to the brim and toast with one loud gra.
And we'll sing in praise of Springhill braes and lovely Moneymore.
