Late spring the leaves are turned green The sheep on the hill side, the birds on the wing. From over my shoulder the last time I'm seeing The old house all weathered and grey We talked till three, my father and me And the fiddle tunes flowed like the clear Margaree "Never forget who you are, son", said he. And I followed my brothers away. Now I'm headin' for Halifax to see what's to spare In the way of some work, and if there's nothing there It's Toronto, Out west, to God only knows where But there's bound to be friends from back home. One thing I know, wherever I go My heart's in Cape Breton it will always be so. And, whenever the fiddler rosins the bow My first and last thought is for home. Now I'm headin' for Halifax to see what's to spare In the way of some work, and if there's nothing there It's Toronto, Out west, to God only knows where But there's bound to be friends from back home. One thing I know, wherever I go My heart's in Cape Breton it will always be so. And whenever the fiddler rosins the bow My first and last thought is for home. And, whenever the fiddler rosins the bow My first and last thought is for home. My first and last drink is for home.