Good Twenty Pounds a year, this son of a Teague Sir,
Of lawful British money is regularly paid Sir,
For driving the Poor Geese, from the Land their inheritance,
Whereby he addeth Riches to Irish Impertinence.
Bow, wow, wow.
There's TINKER JOE comes next, because next in colour,
He tells you all he'll make a speech, but alas, he's no Scholar;
He'll talk of Lords and Baronets his Juvenile connections,
By mending all their Pots and Pans, he's gained their affections.
Bow, wow, wow.
To claim your attention more, he'll talk about the Parliament,
And say how many Members, old Ruby Face has thither sent,
That his interest is great in affairs of the nation,
Though still Baboon of Nottingham, Nun's Green shall be his station.
Bow, wow, wow.
OROONOKO next presents himself, t' engage your attention,
As oft' before the Bear has done, with many a vile intention,
By blasts and oaths to lead you all, against your common senses,
For tho' almost an Ideot, he'll forge some false Pretences.
Bow, wow, wow.
But none of you've forgot, the sixteenth of September,
Th' exalted part he then perform'd, you all must well remember;
By such a wretch you'll ne'er be led, against your inclinations,
Who persecutes the poor man with Game Informations.
Bow, wow, wow.
Then join neighbours all, without hesitation,
Resist these Imposters, without exceptation,
May all of us with one accord, oppose this host of evil,
And send Sergeant Pad and Co. to Canvas with the D—l.
Bow, wow, wow.
A Birch Rod for the Presbytarians.
A NEW SONG.
Tune of "Chevy Chace."