Judy! dear Judy! I’m wet through quite with rain
The dirty children mock me all around
And with ‘dear Judy’ does each pig stye sound!
Air.
Tim Murphy, who dwells by the Cow and worsted stocking,
I met near the bog at the end of the town;
He swore by the powers, I desarved a dacent knocking,
He was after knocking me up, but I knocked the varmint down.
’Och, now Patrick,’ said he, what is it you’d be at?
Faith said I, you would get round me, but ye see I’ve laid ye flat,