In a fertile vale in Limerick,
Drained by the river Deel,
Nests Feenagh’s lovely village,
With her hurling men of steel,
The wild bird seeks its shady groves,
And singing proud array
When they see those boys in practice
All ready for the fray.
The rabbit and hare abound
And oft’ time seems to say
Bring home the prize you gallant boys
From out the field of play,
Cloncara’s planes and highmount groves
Likewise Kilmurry’s Glen,
Do re-echo praise in proud replays,
For Feenagh’s hurling men.
Pat McCarthy is the captain and plays in forward line
He’ll gain more fame while at the game
Than the Mackey’s or Tim Ryan
And in the line plays Long and ryan
Who watch the crossbar halt,
For if the ball do run or fall
To take the pass from Pat.
The Badger plays at centre-field
And pulls both high and low
And in the line behind do shine
That dashing Mossie O’
Jer Neenan too at centre-field
Of dread he has no fear,
To watch his pace while ina race
You’d think he was a deer.
Tom Twomey too you’ll not sub-due
He pulls with dashing vein,
And in the back to stem attack
Is the captains’s brother Tim,
Then tall and strong there stands our Con
The third Mac. Of the lot,
You’d stand and gaze in wild amaze
At his dashing hurling shot.
Farrell holds the Cul-a-baire
His courage you’d not shade
And ‘tis so nice to watch Bill Boyce
The clearance he do make
Jack Twomey plays as full wing back,
And drive along the line,
And if he’ll fail sure I go to bail,
It will not pass P. O’Brien.
Pat Lynch the Badger’s brother,
Who hails of hurling stock
His temper too it is true
It often goes amach.
And in the line there plays young Ryan
To hurling he is new,
And with the rest he won the West
Their colours white and blue
Ahane can boast of gallant men
Newcastle West and Croom
Killeedy too have gallant lads
With Askeaton boys and Doon
But for art and craft and swinging of ash
And dashing grand display
For championship for prize or cup
It’s Feenagh holds the sway.
So give three ringing cheers my boys
For those brave sons of toil
They played the game for naught but fame
For the sake of Auld-Lang-Syne
From North to South let each one shout
O’er valley hill and glen
Hurrah, Hurrah, Hurrah, Hurrah
For Feenagh’s hurling men.
By John Houlihan of Croagh