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