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Appalachian Paddy

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By Ian Byrne, Stephen Phillips, Norman Dahlor & Brent Hoad / Lyrics by Ian Byrne © Elders Pub Music 2011

Lyrics

Young Dinny McCann, just a sliver of a man,
He walks down the road with his fiddle in hand.
A beggin for sixpence to help pay for boat
To get him to sailin’ high tide
To America he go, away from this hole
That killed his young sister and shattered his soul.
His mother and father he buried in ground
He’ll remember with honor and pride

A long stormy night, a long voyage he sailed
His fiddle in hand was all that he hailed
He played through the night, and saw a smile from a child
Gave hope to the lost and forsaken
As they pray on their knees, many souls lost at sea
The sighting of land will bring tears to the free
With hope in their hearts and screams of delight
They will dance on the decks of the Erin

Chorus; Put your arms around each other
And sing to the angels up high
Shake your fist at the devil and begrudgers
Give a kiss to the one by your side

In a bar on the hill, schlligin’ juice from a still
He hears a young lad play an Appalachian fill
To Dinny he cried what is in that black case
‘Tis me fiddle from my mother Ireland
Well break it on out he declares with a shout
Let’s dig for the gold with our strings and a stout
We’ll play ‘til we bleed or break an ould string
Our ghosts will move on to the new land

Chorus; Put your arms around each other
And sing to the angels up high
Shake your fist at the devil and begrudgers
Give a kiss to the one by your side





I’m playin da string with me father’s bow in a land so far from home
A sippin’ a drop a da potteen, playin’ da music from ma soul
Flannigan, Donnigan, Finnegan’s wake and all the tunes are known
Irish Whiskey Irish music till the morning

Maggie O’Connor jumps up on the table and dances a slippery Jig
Her arms and legs a swinging with her lips wrapped round a cig
Flannigan, Donnigan, Finnegan’s wake and all the tunes are known
Irish Whiskey Irish music till the morning


Well this is our mountain music we be playin here so long
Our plantin’ and a seedin’ all recorded in our song
We work our fingers to the bone and praise the Lord each day
‘Til the sun come up and the moon goes down
drinkin’ moonshine rakin’ hay

Well a simple life we choose to live and treat your woman well
Don’t raise your hand to child nor dog your soul will go to hell
Just work your fingers to the bone and praise the Lord each day
‘Til the sun come up and the moon goes down
drinkin’ moonshine rakin’ hay