My Dear Native Town

O, there is a village in which I take pride,
Fairer than any by the Foyle or Lagan’s side,
‘Tis in Moyola valley where the river hurries down,
And I’ll tell to you its name, it is called “Draperstown”.

Slievegallion lies south of it, I want you to know,
Like to the mountains by the clear winding Roe,
The Sperrins lie north-west of it, all heather clad and brown,
And they all lie convenient to my dear native town.

The Carntogher mountains, they are lovely and grand,
And just as fair as any in our dear native land,
They have grass upon their sides and with heather on the crown,
And they add a lovely charm to our dear native town.

But it is not the landscapes, though fair they may seem,
Which makes me love Draperstown, in dear old Ballinascreen,
‘Tis the lads and lasses and all who dwell around,
And O, boys, but I’m proud of my dear native town.

It was from this spot that the famous Henry came,
Whose rise as a lawyer brought him honour to his name,
And it’s girls are the finest you could find on any ground,
You could love all the girls in our dear native town.

It stands on a rise by Moyola’s green side,
In the bosom of a valley that is beautiful and wide,
With a road across the mountains for to bring the traffic down,
And success be yours for ever, O, my dear native town.

Its business is humming as a stranger could tell,
‘Tis on the route of buses and motor cars as well,
Its people are all happy and they never wear a frown.
And O, boys, But I’m proud of my dear native town.