My name it is Sweeney a father of two sons I am,
A Collier tenant like many a true mountain man,
My wife fell to famine my heart will never repair.
Worse was to come in the form of a John George Adair,
Word spread in the valley a stranger had bought all the land
Soon twenty eight thousand acres he would command,
But we would soon learn that the blood in his body ran cold,
For the suffering of the poor was John Adair's goal.
The hills and the mountains know your name,
The deer even hang their heads in shame,
And even the longest Winter's rain,
Can't wash away all the suffering and pain,
Of the evictions, at Derryveigh.
You swore at us lies you had us arrested and jailed,
For the murder of Murray your agent, but justice prevailed,
What vengeance was feasting,
Inside of your cold Scottish heart,
When the order was given,
The people and land they must part.
One morning in April 1861,
Two hundred soldiers their bayonets shone in the sun,
Led by the Sheriff they marched with a crowbar brigade,
And a widow, six daughters, a son,
First homeless were made.
Two hundred and forty four people made homeless that day,
While John Adair's castle,
Was planned for the shores of Lough Veigh,
Some to the poor house, some to Australlia's shore,
But all said goodbye to a homeland,
They 'ed see never more.