Late spring the leaves are turned green
The sheep on the hill side, the birds on the wing.
From over my shoulder the last time I'm seeing
The old house all weathered and grey
We talked till three, my father and me
And the fiddle tunes flowed like the clear Margaree
"Never forget who you are, son", said he.
And I followed my brothers away.
Now I'm headin' for Halifax to see what's to spare
In the way of some work, and if there's nothing there
It's Toronto, Out west, to God only knows where
But there's bound to be friends from back home.
One thing I know, wherever I go
My heart's in Cape Breton it will always be so.
And, whenever the fiddler rosins the bow
My first and last thought is for home.
Now I'm headin' for Halifax to see what's to spare
In the way of some work, and if there's nothing there
It's Toronto, Out west, to God only knows where
But there's bound to be friends from back home.
One thing I know, wherever I go
My heart's in Cape Breton it will always be so.
And whenever the fiddler rosins the bow
My first and last thought is for home.
And, whenever the fiddler rosins the bow
My first and last thought is for home.
My first and last drink is for home.