There's a dashing sort of bhoy who was once his country's joy,
But his ructions and his rows no longer charm me,
He often takes command in a fury-spouting band
Called the "Ballyhooly" Parliamentary Army.
At Donnybrook's famed fair he might shine with radiance rare,
A "Pathriot" he's called, and may be truly,
It is catching, I'm afraid, for when he is on parade
There seems scarce a sober man in "Ballyhooly."
Chorus.
Whililoo, hi ho! Faith they all enlist, ye know,