My Donegal from The Traveler by Trip McCool

Donegal, Donegal
Your hills so green,so tall
My heart is in the heather, We live and breath together
No, I could never leave ya after all, my Donegal

There's no one left to blame now but myself
I am the last remaining of the twelve
My father and my mother, my sisters and my brothers
I pray they lift a glass up to my health

The children were the first ones here to go
To Boston or the graveyard down the road
The rest were right behind them, there's nothing here to bind them
They'll send me money soon as they take hold.

I've got a good low fire to warm my bones
Honest peat, not your Cardif coal
And if I need some help, well the bible's on the shelf
I'd rather have some whiskey, truth be told

Perhaps I'll take a stroll down to the sea
The bounty of the ocean all for free
Ah it'll be so grand all the fish that I will land
As soon as I can get back on my feet

• Celtic
• Folk
• Irish
• Oak Island