The Golden Hills

The cattle they were sleeping, and the hillside it was bare,
Even the farmers were getting out of there,
Monaghan was freezing, the ice was cool and still,
When Richard Conroy and his miners found gold up in the hills.

Clontibret, they all say, is a sleepy little town,
And the most gold they’ve ever seen might be a half a crown
But the news of the find shook them all up to the gills,
When Conroy and his miners found that gold up in the hills.

The councilmen unwrapped their shovels and their picks,
Loaded up their Transit vans, and headed for the sticks.
With silence and intent, the moved in for the kill,
To stake a claim, and make their name, in Monaghan’s golden hills

The press soon smelt a story, and came from far and wide,
To see the hills from where soon would flow a golden tide.
Such a crowd had not been seen before in these quiet hills
Since Sir Paul McCartney got himself hitched to Heather Mills

Well, now it’s two months later, and the cynics still abound,
They say Clontibret’s gold deposits never will be found.
It’ll never stop the optimists, who seek their glass to fill,
And they still continue searching for the gold in them there hills.