Patrick Russell - Tom Russell

My name is Patrick Russell, I’ve led a Christian life

I sit here in New Hampton, the year is 1910

Looking back from Iowa towards Mother Ireland.

I was born in Templemore in 1825

Recalled a happy boyhood until my mother died

Starvation crept across the land, America’s our dream

Six cruel weeks on stormy seas aboard the ship Tyrene.

American primitive man, in an American primitive land

I washed my face in a frying pan, American primitive man.

At last we docked in old Quebec, the English offered farm and ground

But we’d lived too long under English rule, to United States we’re bound

By train and then by cattle boat, aw the filth down in that hold

We landed in Milwalkee, trekked 200 miles or more

A sack of new potatoes was carried by each man

Four spades for cultivation we’d brought from Ireland

We worked at splitting railroad ties, bought one old milking cow

A quarter section uncleared land, two oxen and a plough

At night we heard the wolves howl on our newly purchased farm

And starving lads from the civil war took shelter in our barn.

The Larsens and the Cooneys, the Russells the Molloys

We tilled the soil of Iowa and grew a spate of girls and boys.

American primitive man, in an American primitive land

A whiskey still in an oatmeal can, American primitive man

I’m an American primitive man.