Lirama

An Irish boy was leaving
Leaving his native home,
Crossing the broad Atlantic,
Once more he wished to roam,
And as he was leaving his mother,
While standing on the Quay,
He threw his arms around her waist
And this to her did say:
And as the years grow onward,
I'll settle down in life,
And I'll choose a nice young colleen,
And take her for my wife.
And as the kids grow older,
They'll play around my knee
And I'll teach them the very same lesson
That my mother taught to me

refrain:
A mother's love is a blessing,
No matter where you roam.
Keep her while she's living,
You'll miss her when she's gone.
Love her as in childhood,
When feeble, old and grey,
For you'll never miss a mother's love
'til she's buried beneath the clay.