And call into a Millstreet pub to have a drink or two
And again renew acquaintances of old friends I once knew.
Old Clara in his Winter brown may wear a hat of gray
And Finnow she may flow bank high through bogs of Claraghatlea
And days of Spring though very near may still seem far away
But who would not wish to be at home on this St Patrick’s Day.
A migrant in this vast Southern Land is all I’ll ever be
And though I love this Country there is still a part of me
Back home in old Duhallow where Blackwater Finnow meet
Where the World is so much quieter in the old fields of Millstreet.
‘The savage loves his native shore’ with those words I agree
And though I love this sunlit Land of gum and wattle tree
On St Patrick’s Day my thoughts go far thousands of miles away
To Millstreet Town where Pipers Band up to the Town Square play.
On St Patrick’s Day in Victoria it’s warm Autumn sunshine
But I know of a distant Land where weather not so fine
Still I would like to go back there old friendships to renew
And call to pub in Millstreet Town to have a pint or two.