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Christy Moore
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Where I Come From
There's a beautiful place near Alanwood, were Johnny Doyle is king,
were I get the sap and I get the sauce, and I hear the Curraghs sing,
were the heather and the moss grow, and the turf lies row after row,
out there for the sun to dry, I breath it in as I walk on by,
were the kids and the dogs muck in to gather, bringing home the turf,
no matter what the weather.
I'm a bogman, deep down, it's were I come from
I'm walking along the seashore, in a distant land, dreaming of Baronstown, Bride, frank and nan,
I put the saddle on the pony in the corner field, and I canter down the lane,
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I was heading for the yellow bog, and sonny was on the slane, he was cutting deep into the turf,
he was pegging it on up high, neddy was catching it on the bank, and Gary was spreading it out to dry,
they're footing it, theyre cutting it, they're clamping it together, they're bringing home the turf no matter what the weather
And when they heard the Milltown bell ring out, they turfmen paused to pray,
bridies coming down the meadow with the billy cans of tae, and nanny got the basket on her arm
to feed them hungry men, the Dowling girls are on the bog in the heat of the midday sun,
I'm dreaming, dreaming, of the jet black lawn, the roots of the long haul journey men kept calling me back home,
from way out west in Canada, from deep down in Geelong, to the yellow bog in Alanwood, the place were I belong
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