1. My name is John O'Halloran, and I'm eighty-one years old.
I left my boyhood days behind, for to search for fame and gold.
I left my home in Tralee town, in my twenty-second year.
I would dig the gold on England's shore, and I'd make my fortune there.

2. The weary months in search of work, the tramp through street and road.
A shake-me-down in Camden Town, it was my first abode.
No friendly glance to cheer my heart, no man to shake my hand,
No easy gold, only rain and cold, in this God-forsaken land.

3. Go down that trench, proud Irishman, for you are strong and big.
Go take that shovel by the neck, spit on your hands and dig.
Tear out the guts from Mother Earth, from the dawn till fading light.
In the nearest pub you'll spend your sub, and you'll hate and love and fight.

4. I have tramped around this country now, for fifty years or more.
I've met some women in my time, the good one and the whore.
I've tramped it down to Preston town; I have skippered in the rain.
I've cursed and prayed; I've been poorly paid; I've known hunger, joy and pain.

5. I loved a girl in Liverpool, a sweet one from Mayo.
I've slept with girls from Tiger Bay, with teeth like virgin snow.
I have ate my foods in small sheebeens, and I've drunk the porter black,
A dirty bed for to lay my head, where the lice crawled up my back.

6. My bones are getting weary now, and my shoulders they are bent,
My once black hair is grey with care and my money is all spent.
Soon Sargent Death will call me home, and he'll take me by the hand,
Far from Tralee Town, lay my body down, in this God-forsaken land.

7. To all the men who dig it out, adieu my friends, adieu.
To young and old, in search of gold, I raise my glass to you.
Go down that trench, proud Irishman; take the shovel in your hand.
There's no easy gold, only rain and cold, in this God-forsaken land.