|
My daddy was a miner, said there was nothing finer |
|
Than an Irish man who worked an honest day |
|
From Steamboat Row, in rain or shine, he'd make his way down to the mine |
|
Along the dusty road he'd travel |
|
Fifteen miles to get there, fifteen miles to go |
|
Fifteen miles back home again, home to Steamboat Row. |
|
He used to tell about the time he got hurt down in the mine |
|
He said he'd never go back down again |
|
But in his heart he knew he would, he did the only thing he could |
|
Kept on walkin' down that road |
|
Fifteen miles to get there, fifteen miles to go |
|
Fifteen miles back home again, home to Steamboat Row. |
|
But when he took to drinkin' we knew that he was thinkin' |
|
That his days were quickly coming to an end |
|
He'd only speak of Steamboat Row, he said someday we ought to go |
|
And walk along that dusty road |
|
Fifteen miles to get there, fifteen miles to go |
|
Fifteen miles back home again, home to Steamboat Row. |
