Oh, poor I am today, sure God gives and takes away
He has left without a home poor Dan O'Hara,
In the frost and snow I stand with these matches in my hand
To beg the bite that I may want tomorrow.
Then a chushla geal mo chroidhe won't you take a box from me,
And you'll have the prayers of Dan from Connemara;
I sell them cheap you know, buy a box before you go,
From the poor old ruined farmer Dan O'Hara.
In the year of '64 we had acres by the score
The finest land you ever ran your plough through,
But the landlord came, you know, the old cot he laid low
And left without a home poor Dan O'Hara.
In the year of '69 I lost all that was mine,
'Twas then that I and my poor wife were parted
My children starved and died, I left them side by side
And it's here I am so poor and broken-hearted.
I have this notion in my head that this goes to the tune of Killeshandra
(Come out Ye Black and Tans)