My name is Terry Fitzpatrick
I see familiar faces all around
Perhaps some long lost relatives
Still in County Cork who could be found
My grandfather, James William Fitzpatrick
Made his way to South Boston, Mass,
Just like thousands of Irish refugees
Was looked down upon as low class
“We don’t hire the Irish”
Signs posted on many a door
So he played piano and wrote songs
To feed his family of four
Side by Side and Beer Barrel Polka
Were 2 of his most famous songs
He sold the rights for so little
Few dollars, no credit, so wrong...
He had left County Cork in a hurry
Like thousands forced to leave town
His family, I’m told, were horse thieves
But The Famine’s what took them down
The Troubles continued in Boston
Fifty years before the Kennedys were crowned
My Grandfather kept drinking and singing
Grandmother died young without a sound
One of their 4 sons was my father
Clifford Joseph then had 4 sons and me
I’m proud of my Irish heritage
First one back to visit since 1893
When I arrived in Dublin, I felt like Mohammed Ali when he went to Africa for the Rumble in the Jungle; everyone looked like my brothers & sisters, every cab driver was a poet or musician; every town, no matter how small, had lots of live music. I'm over the moon for Ireland.