Just like a stream
that flows down farm mountain
Just like a snow
that melts into the earth
Our people were scattered
by greed and tater
They left for Grosse
to die in the dirt

In their anguish sampan
they share their belongings
A landlord they left
as they took to the serf
The ships were unfelt to
bring these to their slaughter
Yet they left for Grosse
to die in the dirt

Though their hearts were light up
as the new world approach them
Weeks out of the sea
now suffering no more
With line of the ships in
St. Lawrence River
To land on Grosse
to die in the dirt

There're thousands they died
on the island of sorrow
Not from the hunger
but the feverish curse
They left pillage behind them
on the land they love dearest
To go to Grosse
to die in the dirt

Now today the same ways
flow all the Atlantic
The Irish still cross them
with ambition and mirth
They don't have to face
coffinships sail to
If you go to Grosse
you won't die in the dirt