Ma's Old Hut

This old Hut we used to live in was made of corrugated tin

Needed some painting and some paper on the wall

And the rattle on the roof was like the sound of hob-nailed boots

Especially when the rain and hailstones fall

It seems so long ago to Springtown we did go

We left Lizzie’s house in Derry’s old Bogside

In Springtown we did find huts the Yankees left behind

And we squatted there and got back all our pride


She’s a father and a mother a sister and a brother

She’s a friend when life is tough and you’re alone

She’s a preacher and a teacher, she’s a shoulder to cry on

And all she did, she did it on her own

All the neighbors came out looking when Ma did the Sunday cooking

And many a hungry mouth would share our table

Down the road was Farmer Bob and his orchard we would rob

And we’d buy his big brown eggs when we were able

It was a hard life in the camp, where the huts were cold and damp

But there wasn’t any use in our complaining

We had real simple goals pushed newspaper in the holes

To keep the water out when it was raining


At the factory they did toil making shirts by the river Foyle

And many a night Ma had to bring work home

It was really no mean feat, trying to make sure ends would meet

But she fed us all and I never heard her moan

Now the years have long passed by, she’s living in New York, NY

We think of bygone days of cold and damp

We were poor but happy there, ‘twas a life beyond compare

In the bad old good old days in Springtown Camp