Down by the hill where the nettles grow,
the winds they howl, the streams they flow,
an old man hums with his pipe in tow,
the rattling road to Ballymore.
Oh,
the rattling road,
the rattling road,
where stories are spun, the ale is poured,
with a huff, a skip, and a hearty load,
we dance along the rattling road.
The fiddle is boasting,
sharp and sweet,
the tin whistle wails,
quick as feet,
war on thunder's a heart's own beat,
to guide us down the rattling road.
Raise your glass, let's toast the air,
feet are flying, who needs a chair?
Oh,
the rattling road,
the rattling road,
where stories are spun, the ale is poured,
with a huff,
a skip,
and a hearty load,
we dance along the rattling road.
Through hedgerows green and skies of blue,
with tales to tell and songs to brew,
the banjo twangs, the laughter's new,
on every mile of the rattling road.
Oh,
the rattling road,
the rattling road,
where stories are spun, the ale is poured,
with a huff,
a skip,
and a hearty load,
we dance along the rattling road.