The Irishman

THERE was a lady lived at Leith,

A lady very stylish, man,

And yet, in spite of all her teeth,

She fell in love with an Irishman,

A nasty, ugly Irishman,

A wild, tremendous Irishman,

A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, ranting, roaring Irishman.

His face was no ways beautiful,

For with small-pox ’twas scarred across,

And the shoulders of the ugly dog

Were almost double a yard across.

Oh, the lump of an Irishman,

The whisky-devouring Irishman,

The great he-rogue, with his wonderful brogue, the fighting, rioting Irishman!

One of his eyes was bottle-green,

And the other eye was out, my dear,

And the calves of his wicked-looking legs

Were more than two feet about, my dear.

Oh, the great big Irishman,

The rattling, battling Irishman,

The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, leathering swash of an Irishman!

He took so much of Lundy-foot

That he used to snort and snuffle, oh,

And in shape and size the fellow’s neck

Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo.

Oh, the horrible Irishman,

The thundering, blundering Irishman,

The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, thrashing, hashing Irishman!

His name was a terrible name indeed,

Being Timothy Thady Mulligan;

And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch,

He’d not rest till he’d filled it full again.

The boozing, bruising Irishman,

The ’toxicated Irishman,

The whisky, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, no-dandy Irishman.

This was the lad the lady loved,

Like all the girls of quality;

And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith,

Just by the way of jollity.

Oh, the leathering Irishman,

The barbarous, savage Irishman!

The hearts of the maids and the gentlemen’s heads were bothered, I’m sure, by this Irishman.