GHOST OF ’47



A WATERSHED IN HISTORY WAS 1845

’46 AND ‘7, ’48 AND ‘9

FIVE LONG YEARS OF DYING

DISEASE AND FEVER STRUCK

THE CRIME OF FAMINE HITTING HARD

THE POOR WERE OUT OF LUCK


CHORUS


GRASS IN THE BACK OF THEIR THROATS MY FRIEND

GRASS IN THE BACK OF THEIR THROATS

POPULATIONS STARVING THOUSANDS ON THE BOATS

SLIDING BOTTOMED COFFINS GETTING DAILY USE

ECHO SORROWS OF TODAY


A POPULATION STARVING FROM THEN IT DID DECLINE

EMIGRATION CALLING A SIGN OF THE TIMES

THE SOUP KITCHEN AND WORKHOUSE

LIKE LIVING IN A CELL

THE EXILE AND HIS COUNTRYMEN

STILL REMEMBER WELL


CHORUS


THE WINTERS ’46 AND ‘7, THE WORST WE’D EVER SEEN

THE WEST WAS MOST DEPENDENT

ON PRATIES THEY WERE WEANED

FOOD LEAVING OUR COUNTRY

WHILE DEATH WAS AT IT’S BEST

THE GHOST OF ’47 IS STILL NOT LAID TO REST


CHORUS


THE FAMINE LEFT A MIGHTY SCAR

A SCAR ON IRISHMEN

THEY SAID ‘TWOULD NEVER HAPPEN

YET TODAY IT’S SEEN AGAIN

THERE’S MOUNTAINS AND MORE MOUNTAINS

STILL FAMINE TAKES IT’S TOLL

OH GOD I FELL SO HELPLESS

HAS THE WORLD GOT A SOUL.


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These are the words of a song by Liam Harris of the Cork ballad group, The Irish Weavers
The song is included in their album, Live at Blarney Park.


We are very grateful to Liam and to his fellow singers and musicans for allowing us to publish this copyright text here.


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