An Irish boy was leaving, leaving his native home, Crossing the broad Atlantic, where once more he wished to roam, And as he was leaving his mother, while standing on the quay, She threw her arms around his neck and these were the words she said: Chorus: A mother's love is a blessing, no matter where you roam. Keep her while she's living, you'll miss her when she's gone. Love her as in childhood, though feeble, old and grey, For you'll never miss a mother's love 'til she's buried beneath the clay. And as the years grow onward, I'll settle down in life, And I'll find a nice young Irish girl, and take her for my wife. And as the kids grow older, and climb about my knee I'll teach them the very same lesson that my mother taught to me: Chorus
I first heard this being played in Buchanan st, Glasgow by a young very talented group of boys called Awkward Family Portraits, and it blew my socks off, and it’s the best I’ve heard.
