Smokey Stoor Of Scariff

On a fine summer's day,
Walk the East Clare Way
See a chimney piercing the sky.
Well it blows day and night and
The smoke is black and white.
Smell the chimney, piercing the sky.

Oh smokey stoor of Scariff
On the morning air.
Chipboard on the lungs
In the heart of East Clare.

Will the tourist come fishing,
Inhale the emissions
And vow that this trip be the last?
Will the farmer do battle
For fear that his cattle
Are tainted from grazing the grass?

Oh smokey stoor of Scariff
On the evening air.
Chipboard on the lungs
In the heart of East Clare.

Must jobs mean pollution?
Can we find a solution
For clean air in Scariff, one day?
For toxin reduction
Without cost to production.
Where there's a will there's a way.

Oh smokey stoor of Scariff
On the midnight air.
Chipboard on the lungs
In the heart of East Clare.