Oh Donny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
The summer's gone, and your campaign is dying
It's you, it's you must go and I must bide.

But don't come ye back when summer's in the meadow.
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow.
I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow.
But you, it's you who now must go.


Oh, Donny boy, oh, Donny boy, I loath you so.
But come again you never will
Though some may mourn ye still,
I'm thrilled to see you go.

Oh, Donny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
The summer's gone, and I'm rejoicing
In your falling in the polls.