One fine winter's morning me horn I did blow
To the green hills of Kielder for hours did go
We gathered our dogs and we circled around
For who loves the sport more than the boys of the town.
And when we arrived they were all standing there
We set off for the fields in search of a hare
We didn't get far till someone gave a cheer
Over high hills and valleys the sweet puss did steer
As we flew o'er the hills, 'twas a beautiful sight
There was dogs black and yeller, there was dogs black and white
She took the black bank to try them once more
Oh it was her last lank for the hills of Greenmore.
In a field of wheat stubble this sweet puss did lie
And Rory and Charmer they did pass her by
And there where we stood at the foot of the brae
Oh, we heard the last words that this sweet puss did say:
"Oh' no more o'er the green hills of Kielder I'll roam
No skip through the fields in sport and in fun
Nor hear the loud horn your toner does play
I'll go back to me den by the clear light of day."
You may blame MacMahon for killing the hare
He's been at his ol' capers this many's a year
Well, Saturdays and Sundays he'll never give o'er
With a pack of strange dogs round the hills of Greenmore.
To the green hills of Kielder for hours did go
We gathered our dogs and we circled around
For who loves the sport more than the boys of the town.
And when we arrived they were all standing there
We set off for the fields in search of a hare
We didn't get far till someone gave a cheer
Over high hills and valleys the sweet puss did steer
As we flew o'er the hills, 'twas a beautiful sight
There was dogs black and yeller, there was dogs black and white
She took the black bank to try them once more
Oh it was her last lank for the hills of Greenmore.
In a field of wheat stubble this sweet puss did lie
And Rory and Charmer they did pass her by
And there where we stood at the foot of the brae
Oh, we heard the last words that this sweet puss did say:
"Oh' no more o'er the green hills of Kielder I'll roam
No skip through the fields in sport and in fun
Nor hear the loud horn your toner does play
I'll go back to me den by the clear light of day."
You may blame MacMahon for killing the hare
He's been at his ol' capers this many's a year
Well, Saturdays and Sundays he'll never give o'er
With a pack of strange dogs round the hills of Greenmore.