Bata is Bóthar (The Stick and the Road)
(John Spillane/Louis DePaor)
Ó chaitheas-sa seal i measc na bponcán
Ag codailt amuigh fé chrann mo dhóchais
Ag réabadh fallaí a thóg m’athair romham
Idir é is an doicheall i bhfuinneog a súl
‘Sea thugadar go fial dúinn a raibh acu le tabhairt
Bata is bóthar is fonn abhaile
‘Sea téir abhaile go h-ifreann
Is fan sa bhaile in Éirinn.
Is chuas ina dhiaidh sin go Londain groí
Mo dhá láimh liom is mé liom féin
Dá mbeinnse céad bliain ag doras Sheáin Bhuí
Ní bhfaighinn bheith istigh i ngar dá chroí
‘Sea thugadar go fial dúinn a raibh acu le tabhairt
Bata is bóthar is fonn abhaile
‘Sea téir abhaile go h-ifreann
Is fan sa bhaile in Éirinn.
Is bhíos ag a’ deireadh i ndeireadh an domhain
Ag luí béal faoi ibpoll an uaignis
Ag scríobadh na cré i dtrínse ró mhór
A bhí chomh cúng le huaigh mo linbh
‘Sea thugadar go fial dúinn a raibh acu le tabhairt
Bata is bóthar is fonn abhaile
‘Sea téir abhaile go h-ifreann
Is fan sa bhaile in Éirinn.
Is bhíos-sa lá i dtír na ndall
Ag iarraidh dídean ó racht na farraige
Ní bhfuaireas-sa ann ach airgead ag méileach
Is fliuchadh mo bhéil de mo dheora féin
‘Sea thugamar go fial dóibh a raibh againn le tabhairt
Bata is bóthar is fonn abhaile
‘Sea téir abhaile go h-ifreann
Is fan sa bhaile as Éirinn!
Translation
THE STICK AND THE ROAD
O I spent a time in the land of the yanks
Sleeping out under the tree of my hope
Tearing down walls my father had built before me
Between himself and the window of suspicion of their eyes
Yeah they gave us generously what they had to give
The stick and the road and the longing to go home
Yes go home to hell
And stay home in Ireland
And I went after that to greater London
My two hands hanging and me on my own
If I was a hundred years at the door of John Bull
I wouldn’t get in close to his heart
Yeah they gave us generously what they had to give
The stick and the road and the longing to go home
Yes go home to hell
And stay home in Ireland
And I was in the end at the end of the world
Lying face down in the pool of loneliness
Scratching at the clay in a trench too wide
That was as narrow as the grave of my child
Yeah they gave us generously what they had to give
The stick and the road and the longing to go home
Yes go home to hell
And stay home in Ireland
And one day I went to the land of the blind
Looking for shelter from the rage of the sea
All I found there was the bleating of money
And the wetting of my mouth from my own tears
Yeah they gave us generously what they had to give
The stick and the road and the longing to go home
Yes go home to hell
And stay home from Ireland
