The crowded streets of Brooklyn Seem a long way from my home People rushing onwards Going to and coming from You bid them time of day and They look the other way And so you end up just like them And talk to no one Chorus Where the grass is fresh and green, Where the air is pure and clean, Where the gentle rivers kiss the mountain streams Although I’ve travelled far The hills of south Armagh Are the hills I’m roaming nightly in my dreams The view from my apartment Is a junkie’s alley way My children speak in accents Not like mine My old man’s working two jobs We don’t see him much these days Oh, we’d be happy If we only had the time I hear the hills are occupied by strangers now And the work keeps getting scarcer every day Oh, it’s a hard life when you’re forced from home To leave the ones you love Oh, it’s a hard life when you’re forced to live this way