Terry Maguire was fond of a fire.
He was a kilnman in days of yore.
But not he's changed to drawing cream
To Tugmans of Teemore.  

When Terry gets up in the morn'
he eats his crumbs.
He tackles the mare,
There's no time to spare
Till he reaches Doonans and Gunns

And when he reaches Tugmans
He's in an awful plight.  
He says "Be jeepers the horse is mad,
I'll not get home tonight."

There were ***** carts and horses carts
And carts from all around
But none to compare with Terry Maguire
The pride of sweet Milltown
(author Gerry/Shem Gunn)

back then he wor nobbut a sapling,
kindling
grown to be the new King,
spawn of the mill and the pawnshop
and when the workhouse would be his
last stop,
he dreamt on.

In the home where the hotpot was bubbling
and the door locked so as not to let no trouble in
dad sat grumbling,
dad always did when grandma had hid his baccy.

Milltown memories underneath tall smoking chimneys
where even the poorest fell in love.