How oft do my thoughts in their fancy take flight
To the home of my childhood away,
To the days when each patriot’s vision seem’d bright
Ere I dreamed that those joys should decay.
When my heart was as light as the wild winds that blow
Down the Mardyke through each elm tree,
Where I sported and play’d 'neath each green leafy shade
On the banks of my own lovely Lee.
And then in the springtime of laughter and song
Can I ever forget the sweet hours?
With the friends of my youth as we rambled along
'Mongst the green mossy banks and wild flowers.
Then too, when the evening sun’s sinking to rest
Sheds its golden light over the sea
The maid with her lover the wild daisies pressed
On the banks of my own lovely Lee
The maid with her lover the wild daisies pressed
On the banks of my own lovely Lee
‘Tis a beautiful land this dear isle of song
Its gems shed their light to the world
And her faithful sons bore thro’ ages of wrong,
The standard St. Patrick unfurled.
Oh! would I were there with the friends I love best
And my fond bosom’s partner with me
We’d roam thy banks over, and when weary we’d rest
By thy waters, my own lovely Lee,
We’d roam thy banks over, and when weary we’d rest
By thy waters, my own lovely Lee,
Oh what joys should be mine ere this life should decline
To seek shells on thy sea- girdled shore.
While the steel-feathered eagle, oft splashing the brine
Brings longing for freedom once more.
Oh all that on earth I wish for or crave
Is that my last crimson drop be for thee,
To moisten the grass of my forefathers’ grave
On the banks of my own lovely Lee
To moisten the grass of my forefathers’ grave
On the banks of my own lovely Lee.
Lock the thread
Oh to, oh to be, oh to be a
Cork Cork Cork Cork
Up da rebels
The pan is sizzling and all the regular sausages are ready to hop.
Ah twud make you hard thinking about it
The banks is a great tune.
Did they ever figure out who wrote it?
Some lad from Waterford
The legendary Jimmy Crowley is my first cousin once removed in law (or was). I slept in a spare bedroom in his house when I was down in Cork for a family funeral in 1989.
At the great hurling match between Cork and Tipperary…
A Dub wrote The Fields Of Athenry.
A Galwayman wrote The Green And Red of Mayo.
Danny Boy was written by an Englishman.
A Frenchman wrote the Mountains Of Mourne and Galway Bay.
I pulled that comment from my hole
Shanagolden by a Kerryman
A Long way from Clare to Here by an Englishman
A brilliant song 
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
For ramblin and roving
Oh the night the Puck broke loose on Grand Parade
All the shawlies in Cork city were afraid
And the shout went through the country
That Cork had won the hurling
On the night the Puck broke loose on Grand Parade
imagine the quality of hurling conversation on the train up tomorrow…