And see now—it’s this way ye make it:
Take three lumps of sugar—it’s jist how ye feel—
About whisky, not less than one quarther;
No limon—the laste taste in life of the peel,
And be sure you put screeching hot wather.
It’ll make ye, all over, as warm as a toast,
And yer heart jist as light as a feather;
Sure it’s mate, dhrink, and washing, and lodging almost,
And the great-coat itself, in could weather.
Oh! long life to the man that invinted potheen—