And the janius adorning my race,
Although I’ve no brass in my pocket,
Mushagra! I’ve got lots in my face.
For in rainy or sunshiny weather,
I’m full of good whiskey and joy;
And take me in parts altogether,
By the pow’rs I’m a broth of a boy.
I was sint on the mighty world one day,
Like a squeaking pig out of a sack;
And, och, murder! although it was Sunday,