1

  • 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

2

  • '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

 

The 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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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