McGrath of Harlow, is this the one?
LITTLE PUB IN LONDON
In a little pub in London, Moriarty drank his beer
And recited wondrous stories of his exploits far and near.
"Sing an Irish song" said Kelly, "Best of order one and all"
Then Moriarty sang for them, 'The Hills of Donegal'.
There was cheering at the finish and they called Encore! Encore!
Moriarty said "Listen lads, I can't sing anymore".
He stood there sad and silent and gazed into his beer
And in his eyes there glistened, the starting of a tear.
"Are you going home for Christmas" the kindly barmaid said
Moriarty fixed his gazed on her and slowly shook his head.
"Sure I haven't been to Ireland for, twenty years or more
My mother would hardly know me, if I walked up to the door."
"I was born" said Moriarty "On an island off the west
The last place God created but the first place that he blessed.
We were poor but we were happy, in our simple little way,
My God, I wish I was a boy again, to live my youthful days."
"My Father, God be good to him, was drowned one woeful night
My Mother, left all lonesome and myself, to work and fight.
So with Donald Rue McCarty and young Michael Og O'Shea
I came across to England, to earn an honest pay."
"I told my dear old Mother, I'd soon be home again
But the curse-of-drink came over me and enslaved me in its chain.
So I haven't been to Ireland now for, twenty years or more
But I know, she's still there waiting, for my footsteps at the door."
Then someone started singing, 'See Amid the Winter Snow'
It was like an old bell ringing, far away and long ago.
Moriarty stood and listened, then pushed his glass away
And he made a solemn promise, he'd go home for Christmas day.
So he scraped up every penny, he could get into his hand
And coming up to Christmas, he sailed for Ireland.
His heart was filled with gladness and he felt content at last
As the train rolled through the midlands and brought him to the west.
In the village of Kinshela, that night upon the shore
Far across the deep blue waters, he saw his island home once more.
The stars were shining brightly, sure they glistened like a dome
On that little white-washed cottage, that was Moriarty's home.
"Tis a grand night for the sailing" said the boatman Thomas Bawn
Moriarty didn't know him, for he'd been away so long
So they climbed into the bolleen and the boatman heard him say
"Thank God! Thank God in heaven, I'll be home for Christmas day."
In a little room in London, Moriarty's poor abode
On a table in the hallway, a message lay unread
The message said, "Dear Danny, your poor mother has passed away"
She'll be buried in Kinshela, after Mass, on Christmas day.
(Trad/Arr. Kerr) Outlet Music.
HTML line breaks added. --JoeClone, 3-Jun-02.