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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415627" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Hell Or Havana</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hurry up McGillacuddy, you’ll soon be on your way.<br>No more you’ll hunt the pheasants with a shotgun by the bay, <br>No more you’ll watch the farmers cutting turf down by the bogs, <br>Or sheep up on the mountains being herded by the dogs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You’ll seldom hear the pipes again or watch the colleens dance.<br>You’ll join the long tradition; no there’s not a single chance, <br>That there’s work for you in Ireland; the economy is dead.<br>It’s nineteen fifty four my boy; too many mouths to be fed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hurry up McGillacuddy show them that you’re keen, <br>Get on that dock and board that ship you’re almost seventeen.<br>Don’t show them that your heart is broke or that you want to cry, <br>You’re proud to be an Irishman so hold your head up high.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This ship is packed with emigrants from England, Scotland, Wales.<br>They’re singing blimey British songs and telling taller tales.<br>They say you’ve got a brogue my friend and that you’re young and green, <br>Your patriotic pride is hurt when you’re almost seventeen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hurry up McGillacuddy you’re a stranger on your own.<br>The loneliness you’ve come to know hurts right down to the bone.<br>You’ll never fish the Fergus or walk Rinanna hunting hare.<br>These strangers here don’t know your world nor do they even care.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That place you knew just the other day; it’s gone forever now.<br>Was it all just an illusion - another world somehow? <br>Where are those voices that you heard - the choir in the church? <br>When you had all the answers and no god-forsaken search.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hurry up McGillacuddy forget all you have done.<br>Canadian Immigration waits at Pier twenty-one.<br>They’ll process you in a minute flat and send you on your way.<br>You’re one of a thousand immigrants came to Halifax today.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The train is long and crowded too; no time for much emotion, <br>Past names like Shibinacadie it glides in locomotion.<br>Trapped days and nights in a carriage tight with your loneliness and pride, <br>You have to endure this steady strain and take it in your stride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hurry up McGillacuddy you’re going to shovel shit, <br>On a farm near Burlington; it wont hurt your pride a bit.<br>Three milk machines and a washcloth rag with forty Holstein cows, <br>In a barn big as a cathedral, some goats, some pigs, some sows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when you’re done with milking and feeding all that pork, <br>There’s a meadow with bales of hay as big as County Cork.<br>These farmers are a dour lot with harrows hoes and ploughs, <br>They toss those bales of hay all day and then milk forty cows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hurry up McGillacuddy, time to change career, <br>Your pay is nearly nothing; this slavery austere, <br>And the loneliness that lingers and haunts you day and night, <br>On a vast expanse of farm where you have no birthright.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You’re off to join the navy and you’re going back to sea, <br>But first to Cornwallis where you dare not disagree.<br>It’s yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir and running all around.<br>And when you’re finished marching you better go pipe down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hurry up McGillacuddy you’re on a navy ship, <br>And when you’re old enough, they’ll give you lots of rum to sip.<br>You’re an able seaman signalman; read those flags and flashing lights.<br>You’re off to the Caribbean and maybe see some sights.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was midnight in Havana when Batista ruled the day, <br>And Castro ruled the hills but you had to spend your pay.<br>That girl with hair as black as coal, she lured you into sin, <br>Did you go to confession yet; how long has it been?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Bredin">James Bredin</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415627" data-title="To Hell Or Havana de James Bredin" data-description="Hurry up McGillacuddy, you’ll soon be on your way.
No more you’ll hunt the pheasants with a shotgun by the bay, 
No more you’ll watch the farmers cutting turf down by the bogs, 
Or sheep up on the mountains being herded by the dogs.

You’l..."></div>
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