oh me name is michael conway in old ireland i was born near the lake of cloonacolly on a bright summer s morn but soon came cruel winter to break and scatter my poor home soon came the harsh day that forced me to roam well i reached bold philadelphia in the brave land of the free where i met with my two brothers there was pat james then me we were destined for the rich land fate owes us all from birth we were bound for butte montana the richest hill on earth where their pockets they bulge heavy when copper s running high where the hill rewards her brave sons it s fortune or die where they tread on silver dollars on the crowded barroom floor while they strip the granite mountain of her precious copper ore well we leaped down off that steam train and stepped out into the yellow mist with holes still in our hearts then and a fight in either fist no kind face to lead us up to where the dirty smelter spat and it s there i took to hard labor as a butte mining rat where we trade the hours of daylight for the smell of copper ore where it s whiskey and the cow pats to cure our copper sores where half the town it labors while the other half it sleeps where upon the granite mountain a mile high and deep oh they know me down in dogtown bare knuckle i would go for there s not a man could best me while standing toe to toe but i defied the crooked sheriff for i wouldn t throw his fight away he should have laid it on at 5 to 2 and backed the bold conway i was lifted in con peoples with the beer and music flowing free where my brothers had just left me oh bad fortune for me dragged out by crooked cowards their batons knocked me off my feet and they left me to die there like a dog in the street far from the anaconda the mine with seven stacks far from the ashen faces of young men with crooked backs far from the granite mountain and the dusty grave in which i lie my spirit chases starlings round a clear mayo sky