MICHAEL MURPHY.
(Robert West Whalley)

My name is Michael Murphy, from the county of Tyrone,
I left my poor old mother in old Ireland all alone:
Our landlord has a stony heart, which never will relent,
And I've came here to "Lancasheer" to try to raise the rent.
I bade farewell to sweet Kathleen, acushla gra ma chree,
With my bundle on my back, an' sure I crossed the ragin' sea.
To cut your hay or reap your corn, I've rambled to your town;
Who will employ an Irish boy to cut the harvest down?

CHORUS:—
I'm merry Michael Murphy, from the county of Tyrone;
At reapin' or hay-makin' with the best I'll hold my own.
I've stood within your market-place, an' rambled through your town;
Who will employ an Irish boy, to cut the harvest down?

When I landed in at Liverpool, imagine my surprise
To see the wagon loads of food, enough to reach the skies!
I thought about my native home, and heaved a mighty groan,
Sure the English people get the meat and fling poor Pat the bone.
If Ireland could but get her own, how happy we would be;
And look upon the English boys as brothers o'er the sea.
Then treat poor Pat no longer like a 'lectioneerin' tool,
But help along old Gladstone, with his measure of Home Rule.

My brother Barney went away, a many years ago,
To fight among the English boys, for Britain's weal or woe.
Poor boy! He shed his Irish blood away in foreign lands,
And they left his bones to bleach upon the burning desert sands.
Sometimes I long to follow him,—and would, if I were free,—
And visit those great cities in the lands across the sea.
But I must not leave my mother dear to sob and sigh alone,
But raise the rent and hurry back to her and "Old Tyrone."


That is from

http://gerald-massey.org.uk/hull/c_blackburn_7.htm


However, there are over 100 songs with the title Michael Murphy (or a variant, so the chance is less than 1%.



Do you have any lyrics at all?