[D]In the Summer of 1832
the [A]sailing ship John [Em]Stamp
tied up into the [Bm]port of Pennsyl[Em]vania
up
[D]the ladder from the cargo deck
poor [A]men and women [Em]crept
into the open skies a[G]bove
[D]Dia is Muire Dhuit agus Failte romhat
[Em]Duffy's my name, I cut through stone
work for me I'm [G]one
of your own
in [Em]dollars I'll pay [A]you
57 men signed up,
Duffy promised to fill their cup
if they cut the Malvern Valley up
Mile 59 had to be on
time for the railway line
From Ballyshannon and The Glenties
they sailed right into hell
they suffered like the weeping Christ
down
Duffy's Cut they sweat their blood
into his wishing well
were they taken by the sickness
were they hunted down like scum
was there poison in
the water
was it cholera or murder
the smoke, that hid the bullets
from the barrell of the boss's gun
The Blacksmith and the Holy Sisters
good people through and through
whispered prayers into the victim's ears
it's all that they could do
how come the bosses had silence on their lips
as 57 Irish Navvies were buried in a pit
no stone to mark their
resting place
no one to mourn their passing
