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The Reason I Left Mullingar (P. Cooksey) I walk through the city a stranger In a land I can never call home And I curse the sad notion that caused me In search of my fortune to roam I'm weary of work and hard drinking And a week's wages left in a bar And God it's a shame to use a friend's name Just to beg for the price of a jar cho: I remember that bright April morning When I left home to travel afar But to work till you're dead For one room and a bed Is not the reason I left Mullingar This London's a city of heartbreak On Friday there's friends by the score But when the pay's finished on Monday A friend's not a friend anymore For the working day seems never ending From the shovel and pick there's no break And when you're not working you're spending The fortune you left home to make And for every man here that finds fortune And comes home to tell of the tale Each morning the broadway is crowded With many the thousand who fail So young men of Ireland take warning In London you will never find The gold at the end of the rainbow You might just have left it behind Copyright Banshee Music EB oct97
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