[Capo on II] G G/B Em C Oh my name is Michael Conway, in old Ireland I was born G G/B C D Near the lake of Cloonacolly on a bright summer's morn G C G/B C But soon came cruel winter to break and scatter my poor home G C G D G Soon came the harsh day that forced me to roam. G G/B Em C Well I reached old Philadelphia in the brave land of the free G G/B C D Where I met with my two brothers; There was Pat, James, and me G C G/B C We were destined for the rich land fate owes us all from birth G C G D G We were bound for Butte, Montana, the richest hill on earth C C G G Where their pockets they bulge heavy, when copper's running high C C Em D Where the hill rewards her brave sons, it's fortune or die G G/B Em C Where they tread on silver dollars on the crowded barroom floor G C G D G While they strip the granite mountain of her precious copper ore. G G/B Em Well we leaped down off that steam train, and stepped out into the yellow C mist G G/B C D With holes still in our hearts then, and a fight in either fist G C G/B C No kind face to lead us up to where the dirty smelter spat G C G D G And it's there I took to hard labor as a Butte mining rat C C G G Where we trade the hours of daylight for the smell of copper ore, C C Em D Where it's whiskey and the cow pats to cure our copper sores G G/B Em C Where half the town it labors while the other half it sleeps G C G D G Where upon the granite mountain, a mile high and deep. [Break--same as chorus] G G/B Em C Oh they know me down in Dogtown, bare knuckle I would go G G/B C D For there's not a man could best me while standing toe to toe G C G/B C But I defied the crooked sheriff, for I wouldn't throw his fight away G C G D G He should have laid it on at 5 to 2, and backed the bold Conway G G/B Em C I was lifted in Con Peoples, with the beer and music flowing free G G/B C D Where my brothers had just left me, Oh bad fortune for me G C G/B C Dragged out by crooked cowards, their batons knocked me off my feet G C G D G And they left me to die there, like a dog in the street. C C G G Far from the Anaconda, the mine with seven stacks C C Em D Far from the ashen faces of young men with crooked backs G G/B Em C Far from the granite mountain and the dusty grave in which I lie G C G D G My spirit chases starlings 'round a clear Mayo sky. (outro) C G D G