The Fine Old Irish Gentleman.
I’ll sing you a dacent song that was made by a Paddy’s pate,
Of a raal ould Irish gintleman, who had a fine estate,
Whose mansion it was made of mud, with thatch and all complate,
With a hole at top, through which the smoke so graceful did ratrate.
Hurrah for the ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden time.
His walls so could, were cover’d wid the devil a thing for show,
Except an ould shillelah, which had knock’d down many a foe,
And there ould Barney sat at ease, and without shoes or hose,
And quaff’d his noggin of poteen to warm his big red nose.