The house is all through others, the childher's late for school,
The man is spendin' all his time in lookin' for a tool,
The wumman's tired thremendjus with clearin' up the flure,
An' the wan that's doin' all the jeel is wickad Traa-dy-Liooar.
The fields is full of cushag, the gates is patched with gorse,
You'll hardly see the harness for the mire upon the horse;
The cows is shoutin' shockin', an' puzzlin' them for sure,
Is the waitin' doin' on them at that tejus Traa-dy-Liooar.
There's a power of foes within us, and enemies without,
But the wan that houls the candle is that little lazy lout;
So just you take an' scutch him, an' put him to the dhure,
An' navar let him in again, that tejus Traa-dy-Liooar.
THE GABLE OF THE HOUSE
What was there doin' on her?
Aw dade, its hard to say.
She wasn' for complainin'
But goin'—night an' day.
Aw, well; there's no wan at me now
To make the bed or milk the cow!
The cough was subjec' to her,
Aw teerin', teerin' still;
She wore it out upon her feet
Yon time that I was ill.
Aw, well; I'm sick enough for all;
But she's not hearin' when I call.
The times I'd not be sleepin'
She'd up an' have a light,
An' do a bit of readin'—
But failin' in her sight.
Aw, well; I'm lyin' lonely now,
An' who's to go an' milk the cow?
Ay! Goin' goin' still,
Nor never warmed a cheer,
Its like she'll tire of sittin' quite,
The way she'll be up theer,
Like wearin' out her Sunday gown
An' longin' still for us that's down.
They're tellin' me to rise,
Me clo'es is on the chiss,
Aw, well, I havn' got no heart,
An' that's the way it iss!
What use of me above the groun'!
The gable of the house is down!