The Reason I Left Mullingar
(P. Cooksey)

I walk through the city a stranger
In a land I can never call home
And I curse the sad notion that caused me
In search of my fortune to roam
I'm weary of work and hard drinking
And a week's wages left in a bar
And God it's a shame to use a friend's name
Just to beg for the price of a jar

cho: I remember that bright April morning
When I left home to travel afar
But to work till you're dead
For one room and a bed
Is not the reason I left Mullingar

This London's a city of heartbreak
On Friday there's friends by the score
But when the pay's finished on Monday
A friend's not a friend anymore
For the working day seems never ending
From the shovel and pick there's no break
And when you're not working you're spending
The fortune you left home to make

And for every man here that finds fortune
And comes home to tell of the tale
Each morning the broadway is crowded
With many the thousand who fail
So young men of Ireland take warning
In London you will never find
The gold at the end of the rainbow
You might just have left it behind


Copyright Banshee Music
EB
oct97