I’ll scuttle your nob with my daddle!
You cheat me bekase I’m in grief,
But soon I’ll demolish your noddle,
And leave you your claret to drink.”
Then in came the priest with his book;
He spoke him so smooth and so civil;
Larry tipp’d him a Kilmainham look,
And pitched his big wig to the divil.
Then stooping a little his head,
To get a sweet drop of the bottle,