WHEN I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
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Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
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My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
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| My brother in Moharabuiee. |
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| I passed my brother and cousin: |
| They read in their books of prayer; |
| I read in my book of songs |
| I bought at the Sligo fair. |
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| When we come at the end of time, |
| To Peter sitting in state, |
| He will smile on the three old spirits, |
| But call me first through the gate; |
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| For the good are always the merry, |
| Save by an evil chance, |
| And the merry love the fiddle |
| And the merry love to dance: |
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| And when the folk there spy me, |
| They will all come up to me, |
| With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’ |
| And dance like a wave of the sea. |
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