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Permalink Reply by Ryan O'Rourke on November 6, 2014 at 2:30am

Excellent ... thanks for sharing these with us, Cait!

I have no homemade Irish music to share myself.  Looking forward to others' offerings, though.

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Permalink Reply by Cait Finnegan on November 6, 2014 at 4:55am

I think many people write poems to capture their emotions about so much, and I really think there is a "bardic" soul in people and they themselves may not realize it.  I think that is what I was hoping might get shared if some have those texts or songs stashed in some file or folder--or still in their hearts.

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Permalink Reply by Gerry Regan on November 11, 2014 at 10:58am

County Woodside? I'm intrigued, Cait. Can you post the lyrics here?

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Permalink Reply by Cait Finnegan on December 8, 2014 at 11:33pm

Gerry, Sorry, I just saw your post tonight.  Here are the lyrics:

County Woodside

 

New York’s a big city where one can get lost

Midst millions of people whose paths are all crossed

But each little neighborhood has its own space

In the hearts of the people who hail from that place.

 

Our ancestors came from the old country

Ireland, our mother, with her thirty-three

The count’s thirty-two until they arrive

In grand New York City and try to survive.

 

The thirty-third county is where I was born

Where Irish hearts greet you with “top of the morn!”

It’s Irish America over the foam

It’s called County Woodside, our home far from home.

 

The priests of our parishes each do their part

Our spiritual soul-friends who pray from the heart

Callahan, Egan, to name just a few.

Two of the holy men that we all knew.

 

We have our Italian, Korean and Jew,

Our German and P.R., Black African too,

But our pubs and our priests and our music and song

Our culture and language all help us belong.

 

I grew up with all kinds of people around

Yet I always knew that beloved sound

of the pipe and accordion, fiddle and drum

Keeping memories alive whence we had come.

 

In Ireland they call us the Yankee cousins

May they never forget we were exiled by sins

of  poverty, politics, prisons and then

We fled to America, new life to begin.

 

Or we are the children of those exiles

and we learned from our parents’ tears and smiles

“Remember your heritage, sing out with pride

Remember dear Ireland here in County Woodside.”

 

Forced away, scattered, yet one Irish heart

Connected by roots, ‘tho we’re far apart

We are of Erin and her thirty-three

We’re County Woodside far over the sea!

 

We send for our people back in Ireland

But many a person can misunderstand

the sorrow that’s felt when one travels from home

Here in County Woodside they’ll not be alone.

 

Here in the new land it’s like Peter’s gate

Luigi and Hans, Mohammed and Kate.

Emigrate, Immigrate, Assimilate

Cling to your heritage, it’s not too late.

 

Here in America blood becomes crossed

But our ethnic history needn’t be lost

Each nationality and unique trait

With its own richness makes this country great.

 

We are of Ireland ‘tho citizens here

Our Celtic connection makes it very clear

Daly, Farrell and Reilly and Finnegans we

Hourigans, Lawlors on this family tree

 

Corrigan, Cronin and Dugan and Walsh

Irish hearts true not one of them false

Growing up Irish in County Woodside

Was home far from home on the other side.

 

Wherever I travel, wherever I go

I am of Ireland and always will know

That thirty-two counties on the other side

Created a thirty-third, County Woodside!

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