Welcome to our house — if you can find it — whether you've come to visit us before in a concert hall, a club or a pub, whether we've been to your house — on record or telly — or even if you don't know us from a hole in the ground.
And if you don't we are Paddy, Tom, Bobby and Liam Clancy, from a small town in Ireland to which we ramble back a lot and then ramble off a lot again. We set out from there young, one by one to seek our fortune. One of us might have tried to sell you insurance, floor polish, or an encyclopedia — maybe welded the harvester together that you've got on the farm or painted your house. Could even have played Shakespeare to you on your cultural night out. You might have met one of us in a tent in India or on a farm in New England, guzzled beer with us at the six o'clock swill in Australia or sipped something stronger sitting in a cafe looking out over the Mediterranean. Paddy or Tom might have been your R.A.F. buddy as a raw recruit at the end of the war in England or you might have whistled after girls with Bobby on a street in Athens or the Middle East — maybe I collected songs or tales from you in the Appalachian mountains. It could be too we met on the unemployment line.
Home has been a lot of places, work has been a lot of things. But mostly for us work has been the fun of singing. So let us poke some fun at you, or try to reform you or make you sad with a few songs at our house — wherever it is.
And you're welcome