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Noreen Bawn ukulele

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#----------------------------------PLEASE NOTE---------------------------------#
#This file is the author's own work and represents their interpretation of the #
#song. You may only use this file for private study, scholarship, or research. #
#------------------------------------------------------------------------------##
Received: from animal-farm.nevada.edu by redrock.nevada.edu (5.65c/M1.4)
	with SMTP id ; Fri, 25 Jun 1993 11:47:57 -0700
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Message-Id: <199306251847.AA17720@animal-farm.nevada.edu>
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	(1.37.109.4/16.2) id AA13726; Fri, 25 Jun 93 14:47:06 -0400
From: Wes Jester 
Subject: ?IRISH//Noreen_Bawn.crd
To: jamesb@animal-farm.nevada.edu (jamesb@nevada.edu)
Date: Fri, 25 Jun 93 14:47:04 EDT
Mailer: Elm [revision: 70.85]






                                     Noreen Bawn
                                                      CAPO  2/3 

          F                  C6  F                              F+    F E7AM
          There's a spot in old Tirconnel, there's a wee house in the glen,
                C7             F            C7                     F F FM F
          Where dwelt an Irish colleen, who inspired the hearts of men,
                                                                    F A7 DM
          She was winsome, fair and hearty, shy and graceful as the fawn,
          G9                  C7     F                C7              F
          Neighbors loved the widows daughter, happy, laughing Noreen Bawn.


          Then one day there came a letter, with her passage paid to go,
          To the land where the Missouri and the Mississippi flowed,
          So she said good-bye to Erin, and next morning at the dawn,
          A poor broken hearted mother bid farewell to Noreen Bawn.


          Many years that Mother waited, till one morning at the door,
          Stood a gorgeous looking lady, all grand the clothes she wore,
          Saying Mother don't you know me, sure I've only got a cold,
          But the purple spots upon her cheeks, the tragic story told.


          There's a graveyard in Tirconnel, where the blossoms sadly wave,
          There's a broken hearted Mother, knelling on a lonely grave,
          Saying my Noreen  you are  calling, its long  years since  you've
          gone,
          It was the curse of immigration, that laid you low my Noreen Bawn.

            
            
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