There’s different parts in Ireland, it is true what I do state,
There’s hundreds that are starving, for they can’t get food to eat,
And if they go unto the rich to ask them for relief,
They bang their doors in their faces as if they were a thief.
Alas! how altered are the times, rich men despise the poor,
And pay them off quite scornful at their door,
And if a man is out of work his parish pay is small,
Enough to starve himself and wife, his children and all.
In former times when Christmas came we had a good big loaf,
Then beef and mutton plenty were, and we enjoyed them both,