Back there in Ballydaly two miles from Millstreet Town
The Cails bank high flowing in the fields as the rain is drizzling down
From the heavily overcast clouds that have in them more rain
And the water it is gurgling in the flooded roadside drain.
Back there in Ballydaly in the cool days of the Fall
As the cloak of night covers the fields one can hear the red fox call
In the old fields by the river out hunting for the night
He leaves his home in the sandy ditch in the fading evening light.
Back there in Ballydaly I recall days in July
When the little lark was carolling like a small speck in the sky
Above the knee high bracken on the slopes of Kippagh hill
Such melodious and natural music flowing from his tiny bill.
Near green old Ballydaly where I lived as a boy
A walk by the river was something I did enjoy
But on looking back the Seasons that now seems long ago
When I lived near where the Cails from Kippagh mountain down to the Finnow flow.
The Cails bank high flowing in the fields as the rain is drizzling down
From the heavily overcast clouds that have in them more rain
And the water it is gurgling in the flooded roadside drain.
Back there in Ballydaly in the cool days of the Fall
As the cloak of night covers the fields one can hear the red fox call
In the old fields by the river out hunting for the night
He leaves his home in the sandy ditch in the fading evening light.
Back there in Ballydaly I recall days in July
When the little lark was carolling like a small speck in the sky
Above the knee high bracken on the slopes of Kippagh hill
Such melodious and natural music flowing from his tiny bill.
Near green old Ballydaly where I lived as a boy
A walk by the river was something I did enjoy
But on looking back the Seasons that now seems long ago
When I lived near where the Cails from Kippagh mountain down to the Finnow flow.
