Oh the old turf fire
And the hearth swept clean,
There's no-one so contented as myself and Paddy Keane,
The baby in the cradle,
You can hear its mammy say,
Ah, will you go to sleep, Alanna
While I wet your daddy's tea.
Now I've got a little house and land
As neat as it can be,
You'll never see the likes of it
This side of Lisnakea.
No piano in the corner
And no pictures on the wall,
But I'm happy and contented
In my little cottage hall.
Now the man that I work for,
Of noble blood is he,
But somethin' I'll be tellin' you
We never can agree.
He has big towering mansions,
He has castles great and tall.
But I wouldn't change the roof that crowns
My own cottage hall.
Round the old turf fire
Sit the old folk, bent with years,
As they watch us trippin' lightly
They're smilin' thro' their tears.
So sadly they are dreaming
Of their youthful heart's desire -
In those dear old days so long ago
Around the old turf fire.