John McCullagh January 30, 2004
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On a Monday morning early
my wandering steps they’d lead me
Down by a farmer’s station
through meadows and green lawn
I heard great lamentation
the small birds they were warbling
We’ll have no more engagements
with the boys of Mullaghbawn

I beg your pardon, ladies, but grant me this one favour
I hope it is no treason on you I now must call
I’m condoling late and early, my heart is near to breaking
All for a noble lady that lives near to Finnae

Squire Jackson he’s unequalled for honour and for reason
He never turned traitor nor betrayed the rights of man
But now we are in danger from a vile deceiving stranger
Who has ordered transportation for the boys of Mullaghbawn

As our heroes crossed the ocean I’m told the ship in motion
Did stand in great commotion as if the seas ran dry
With the trout and salmon gaping the cuckoo’s left her station
Farewell to old Killeavey and the hills of Mullaghbawn

To end my lamentation we’re all in consternation
For want of education I here must end my song
Who cares for recreation without consideration
We’re sent for transportation from the hills of Mullaghbawn.
 

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