INDENTURED

THE INDENTURED

Written by Barry P. Foley
Copyright © 21 October 2009, Revised 9 Mar 2021

My father was an old man, by the age 43
Working this piece of earth, to feed my brother and me
When I turned 16, I come to understand
As the younger son, I would have to leave the land

Here in County Cork, there’s never work to be had
Lucky enough to have a place to lay yer head
Me uncle from the port of Cobh, spoke of the Promised Land
Indenture yourself for passage; it will make you man

As I hugged mum goodbye, she placed a chain around my neck
Her gold wedding band, to help me not forget
On the 1^st day of May, I boarded the ship Tyree
Bound for Virginian soil, two weary months at sea

Oh, I miss ole Ireland, Oh, I miss my home

This Virginia land is hot, the likes I’ve never seen
The Master with his whip, the English think they’re kinds
A filthy shack with 20 men, some try to runaway
We’re beaten just like slaves, the indentured must obey

Six more years until my servitude is clear
Make my way out west, to the new frontier
Close me eyes late at night, see my sweet mother’s smile
Curse my father’s name back in from the Emerald Isle

Oh, I miss ole Ireland, Oh, I miss my home