Here to Belclare
It’s the day of the threshing, the life of the land
The neighbours all gather to give us a hand
Weather is with us, well thanks be to God
Swing that starting handle, I’ll give you the nod
Throw up the sheaves, and tear down the stack
Fill every bag, two hundred weight sack
Chaff, and there’s dust and there’s noise everywhere
We’ll thresh every tráinín from here to Belclare
The humour is good when you’re working this way
Somebody always has something to say
There’s a joke or a story, news of the day
Plenty of porter, no time for tae
They were back Ballintsleibhe just after the dawn
You could hear them beyond at the forge in Triembawn
The old traveling shop-keeper heard someone say
The thresher is down round Killower today
When the threshing was over, they turned off the noise
There had bacon and cabbage and spuds for the boys
Then he pulled a wee squeezebox from under his hat
There’ll be music tonight boys I promise you that