When
we honour in song and in story The names of our
heroes so bold. Who covered with valour and glory
The jerseys of purple and gold Forget
not the lads from The Boro The best that e'er
swung a caman Amongst the greatest of hurlers
a hero Our own darling Flood from Cloughbawn
'Twas
oft through the long years I visioned. A splendid
resurgence again I longed for a Parker or Kavanagh That
I knew back in 1910 But thank God all those long
years of waiting Have been but dark hours before
dawn And the sun that has brightened my twilight. - Is
that dashing young lad from Cloughbawn
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Lad from Cloughbawn 3 - It's well
I remember his childhood,
- And the rambles we had in Glameen.
- I
told him of hurlers I once knew,
- In Castlebridge, Oulart and Screen,
-
And I fashioned his first little hurley,
- From a sally that grew on the
lawn,
- And proudly he carried it daily.
- To the school house beyond
near Cloughbawn.
4 - And then after school
in the evening,
- To Harrington's field he'd repair.
- The sprint,
the hand pass and solo
- Were practised and perfected there.
- And
each move was coached by that veteran,
- That stylist from Boherlahan,
- For
'twas Larry that moulded and polished
- Our scoring machine from Cloughbawn
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to homepage 5 - And then the
boy grew into manhood
- And his story is known the world o'er
- In
London, New York and Chicago,
- In Sydney and far Baltimore.
- Wherever
our exiles are gathered,
- Wherever our Gaels greet the dawn,
- They'll
tell you their star of '55
- Was that dashing young lad from Cloughbawn
6 - Here's a health to you Tim may we see you
- Again
in '56
- Hand passing to Tom Ryan or Nicky
- Or having a go at the
sticks
- Or soloing your way from the forty
- With the speed and the
eye of a fawn
- And tapping it over the crossbar
- Long life to you,
Tim from Cloughbawn
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