On my Fathers Farm ©
Tony Fallon31417
I’m still living on the farm where I was born
My father sows potatoes and some corn
I will inherit this farm for I’m an only child
Both my parents love me and have often smiled
There are many mornings that I’d like to sleep
But I have to take care of the cattle and the sheep
There is not a week goes by without a new calf
My father, one helper and I are all the staff
My father thinks that he’s the boss but that isn’t so
For my mother tells us when to reap and when to sow
And every Sunday night she kicks up a terrible stink
When he says he wants to go to the local for a drink
She says “I don’t think you’ll ever be a millionaire
Why don’t you watch the TV from your favorite chair?”
People think country people live a life of charm
But we are busy every day on my father’s farm
In the springtime, many lambs are born
In the summer their mothers have to be shorn
Even though we belong to Farmers associations
There are no days off and we have no vacations
You’ll never see us tanning at any far off beach
We do go to church for mass and hear a speech
I often think of packing it in and going over the water
But I’m madly in love with Mick McCarthy’s daughter.
She belongs to the drama group and she’s quite an actor
We are the talk of the town riding on my father’s tractor
Every day of our lives there are certain routines
Like hooking up the cows to the milking machines
The milk is shipped in big cans with our family label
The check from the creamery puts food on our table
My mother raises turkeys and a big flock of hens
And to save them from foxes she keeps them in pens
That ensures every morning just after we waken
There are plenty of eggs to go with the Irish bacon
After the flu when your strength you need to recoup
With bones and giblets, you can’t beat chicken soup
We produce more fresh food than really is desired
And so we sell off or donate anything not required
On market day in town, we have a vegetable stand
Our ancestors did this too we are one with the land
Whatever the pigs won’t eat to the land is returned
To nourish the soil for no food of ours is ever burned
My father may often talk about New York or South Carolina
But, he wouldn’t trade this farm for all the tea in China
And although I often say I’m fed up and I want to roam
I’ll marry Bridget McCarty and make this farm our home.
My father sows potatoes and some corn
I will inherit this farm for I’m an only child
Both my parents love me and have often smiled
There are many mornings that I’d like to sleep
But I have to take care of the cattle and the sheep
There is not a week goes by without a new calf
My father, one helper and I are all the staff
My father thinks that he’s the boss but that isn’t so
For my mother tells us when to reap and when to sow
And every Sunday night she kicks up a terrible stink
When he says he wants to go to the local for a drink
She says “I don’t think you’ll ever be a millionaire
Why don’t you watch the TV from your favorite chair?”
People think country people live a life of charm
But we are busy every day on my father’s farm
In the springtime, many lambs are born
In the summer their mothers have to be shorn
Even though we belong to Farmers associations
There are no days off and we have no vacations
You’ll never see us tanning at any far off beach
We do go to church for mass and hear a speech
I often think of packing it in and going over the water
But I’m madly in love with Mick McCarthy’s daughter.
She belongs to the drama group and she’s quite an actor
We are the talk of the town riding on my father’s tractor
Every day of our lives there are certain routines
Like hooking up the cows to the milking machines
The milk is shipped in big cans with our family label
The check from the creamery puts food on our table
My mother raises turkeys and a big flock of hens
And to save them from foxes she keeps them in pens
That ensures every morning just after we waken
There are plenty of eggs to go with the Irish bacon
After the flu when your strength you need to recoup
With bones and giblets, you can’t beat chicken soup
We produce more fresh food than really is desired
And so we sell off or donate anything not required
On market day in town, we have a vegetable stand
Our ancestors did this too we are one with the land
Whatever the pigs won’t eat to the land is returned
To nourish the soil for no food of ours is ever burned
My father may often talk about New York or South Carolina
But, he wouldn’t trade this farm for all the tea in China
And although I often say I’m fed up and I want to roam
I’ll marry Bridget McCarty and make this farm our home.
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