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The last time I saw you was down at the Greeks
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There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks
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You sang me a song as pure as the breeze
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on a road leading up Glena veigh
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I sat for a while at the cross at Finnoe
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Where young lovers would meet when the flowers were in bloom
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Heard the men coming home from the fair at Shin rone
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Their hearts in Tippe rary wher ever they go
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Take my hand, and dry your tears babe
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Take my hand, forget your fears babe
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There's no pain, there's no more sor row
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They're all gone, gone in the years babe
I sat for a while by the gap in the wall
Found a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball
Heard the cards being dealt, and the rosary called
And a fiddle playing Sean Dun na nGall
And the next time I see you we'll be down at the Greeks
There'll be whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks
For it's stupid to laugh and it's useless to bawl
About a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball
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So I walked as the day was dawn ing
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Where small birds sang and leaves were fall ing
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Where we once watched the row boats land ing
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By the broad majestic Shan non
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