At a bus stop here in London, with an aching in my heart,
My lungs are full of diesel fumes, I am longing to depart.
I have a lovely vision, all radiant, bright to view,
In spirit I am standing, on the Bridge of Croom Abu.
The river Maigue is singing, as it flows beneath my feet,
It rambles gaily on its way, the Shannon soon to meet.
It brings back happy memories, of times that I once knew,
When all the neighbours gathered, on the Bridge of Croom Abu.

The Old Mill now is silent, its busy days ore o'er,
Its deep and powerful rumblings, alas are heard no more.
The belfry on the Village Church, from the bridge is plain to view,
But those boyhood pals are scattered, from the Bridge of Croom Abu.
The evening sun is setting, behind Knockfierna's Hill,
It's golden rays are lighting up, the countryside with thrill.
I heard the busman call aloud, where are you going to?
Begor I said, please drop me, at the Bridge of Croom Abu
The busman took my fare in hand, his eyes filled up with tears,
That is my native place, he said, I have not been back in years.
Tomorrow when my work is done, I will celebrate with you,
We will go once more to stand upon,
The Bridge of Croom abu.