T. Duggins
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The last time I saw you was down at the Greeks
There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on your cheeks
You sang me a song as pure as the breeze
On a road leading up Glenaveigh

I sat for a while at the cross at Finnoe
Where young lovers would meet when the flowers were in bloom
Heard the men coming from as far as Shinrone
Their hearts in Tipperary wherever they go

Take my hand and dry your tears, babe
Take my hand, forget your fears, babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
They've 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

Take my hand and dry your tears, babe
Take my hand, forget your fears, babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
They've all gone, gone in the years, babe

So I walked as day was dawning
As small birds sang when leaves were falling
Where we once watched the row boats landing
On the broad majestic Shannon


Mirror lyrics:

On the broad majestic Shannon
Where we once watched the row boats landing
As small birds sang when leaves were falling
So I walked as day was dawning

They've all gone, gone in the years, babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
Take my hand, forget your fears, babe
Take my hand and dry your tears, babe

About a rusty tin can and an old Hurley ball
For it's stupid to laugh and it's useless to bawl
There'll be whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks
And the next time I see you we'll be down at the Greeks

And a fiddle playing 'Sean Dun Na Ngall'
Heard the cards being dealt and the rosary called
Found a rusty tin can and an old Hurley ball
I sat for a while by the gap in the wall

They've all gone, gone in the years, babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
Take my hand, forget your fears, babe
Take my hand and dry your tears, babe

Their hearts in Tipperary wherever they go
Heard the men coming from as far as Shinrone
Where young lovers would meet when the flowers were in bloom
I sat for a while at the cross at Finnoe

On a road leading up Glenaveigh
You sang me a song as pure as the breeze
There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on your cheeks
The last time I saw you was down at the Greeks


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