Like a fine ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden time.
To Donnybrook his custom was to go to every fair,
And though he’d seen a few score years, he still was young when there;
And while the rich they feasted him, he still, among the poor,
Would sing, and dance, and hurl, and fight, and make the spalpeens roar.
Like a raal ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden time.
But och, mavrone! once at a row ould Barney got a knock,
And one that kilt him, ’cause he couldn’t get o’er the shock,
They laid him out so beautiful, and then set up a groan,