There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks
You sang me a song as pure as the breeze
on a road leading up Glenaveigh
I sat for a while at the cross at Finnoe
Where young lovers would meet when the flowers were in bloom
Heard the men coming home from the fair at Shinrone
Their hearts in Tipperary wherever they go
Take my hand, and dry your tears babe
Take my hand, forget your fears babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
They're all gone, gone in the years babe
I sat for a while by the gap in the wall Found a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball Heard the cards being dealt, and the rosary called And a fiddle playing Sean Dun na nGall And the next time I see you we'll be down at the Greeks There'll be whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks For it's stupid to laugh and it's useless to bawl About a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball
