A German clockwinder to Manchester came
And Peter Von Gherkin was the old German's name
All up our street with his little brass bell
"Some clocks for to wind," this old German would yell
Chorus
I toodalum I toodalum, I toodalum I ay
I toodalum, I toodalum in the old fashioned way
I toodalum, I toodalum, I toodalum I ay
Well I winds 'em by night and I mends 'em by day
ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding dong
He's met a young woman in Stephenson Square
She said as her clock was in need of repair
She took him upstairs and he followed with delight
In less than ten minutes, he'd set her clock right
Now this old German was the ladies' delight
He often went to 'em by day and by night
And some went too fast-like, others went too slow
But nine out o' ten, he could make 'em all go
While they were busy at what they was at
All of a sudden there came a rat-tat
And in came her hubby who got such a shock
To see this old German winding up his wife's clock
Our clock it was bent and knocked out of repair
Well that poor old German, he got such a scare
That never, oh never, for the rest of his life
Would he wind up the clock of another man's wife
Look at the coffin, with golden handles
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?
Chorus
Let's not have a sniffle, let's have a bloody-good cry
And always remember: The longer you live
The sooner you'll bloody-well die
Look at the flowers, all bloody withered
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?
Look at the mourners, bloody-great hypocrites
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?
Look at the preacher, a bloody-nice fellow
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?
Look at the widow, bloody-great female
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?
Do You Want Your Old Lobby Washed Down?
I've a nice little cot and a small piece of land
And a place by the side of the sea
And I cares about no one because I believe
That nobody cares about me
My peace is destroyed and I'm surely annoyed
By a lassie who lives down the town
She sighs every day as she passes the way
Do you want your old lobby washed down
Do you want your old lobby washed down, Con Shine
Do you want your old lobby washed down
She sighs every day as she passes the way
Do you want your old lobby washed down
The other day the old landlord came by for his rent
I told him no money I had
Besides 't wasn't fair for to ask me to pay
And the times were so awfully bad
He looked discontent at not getting his rent
And he shook his big head with a frown
Says he, I'll take half, and says I for the laugh
Do you want your old lobby washed down
Do you want your old lobby washed down, Con Shine
Do you want your old lobby washed down
Says he, I'll take half, and says I for the laugh
Do you want your old lobby washed down
Now the boys are so bashful when they go out courting
They seem to be so very shy
As to kiss a young maid, oh they would in the shade
They would if they could on the sly
Sure, but me, I do things in a different way
I don't give a damn or a frown
When I goes to court, I says here goes for sport
Do you want your old lobby washed down
Do you want your old lobby washed down, Con Shine
Do you want your old lobby washed down
When I goes to court, I says here goes for sport
Do you want your old lobby washed down
One evening in the month of June
As I was sitting in my room
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was "The Jug Of Punch."
Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was "The Jug Of Punch."
What more diversion can a man desire?
Than to sit him down by an alehouse fire
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And upon the table a jug of punch.
Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And on the table a jug of punch.
Let the doctors come with all their art
They'll make no impression upon my heart
Even a cripple forgets his hunch
When he's snug outside of a jug of punch.
Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
T too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
Even a cripple forgets his hunch
When he's snug outside of a jug of punch.
And if I get drunk, well, me money's me own
And them don't like me they can leave me alone
I'll chune me fiddle and I'll rosin me bow
And I'll be welcome wherever I go.
Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
T oo ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
I'll chune me fiddle and I'll rosin me bow
And I'll be welcome wherever I go.
And when I'm dead and in my grave
No costly tombstone will I crave
Just lay me down in my native peat
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.
Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
Just lay me down in my native peat
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.
Let grasses grow and the waters flow
in the free and easy way,
but give me enough of the rare old stuff
that's made near Galway Bay.
The gaugers all, from Donegal,
Sligo and Leitrim too,
Oh we'll give them the slip,
and we'll take a little sip
of the real old mountain dew.
Chorus
Hi the skiddley-al-the dall
dal the skiddley al-the dee,
dal the dal dal skiddley al the dee,
Hi the skiddley al the dal,
dal mthe skiddley al the dee,
dal the dal dal skiddley al the dee.
At the foot of the hill
there's a neat little still
where the smoke curls up til the sky,
by the whiff of the smell,
you can plainly tell
that there's poitнn, boys, close by.
For it fills the air with a perfume rare,
and between both me and you,
as home be go, we will take a litttle bowl,
or a bucket of the mountain dew.
Now learned men who use the pen
have writ the praises high
of the sweet poitin from Ireland green,
distilled from wheat and rye.
Sure away with your pills,
it will cure all ills,
be ye Pagan, Christuan or Jew,
so take off your coat, and grease your throat
with the real old mountain dew.
Well here I am from Paddy's land, a land of high renown
I've broke the hearts of all the girls from miles 'round Keady town
And when they hear that I'm awa', they'll raise a hullabaloo
When they hear about that handsome lad that they call O'Donahue
Chorus
For I'm the boy to please her and I'm the boy to tease her
I'm the boy can squeeze her ach', and I'll tell you what I'll do
I'll court her like an Irishman and the brogue and blarney too is my plan
With my rolligan, swalligan, holligan, wolligan ,bold O'Donahue
Now, I wish my love was a red, red rose, growing on yon garden wall
And me to be the dew drop and upon her brow I'd fall
Perhaps now she might think on me as a rather heavy dew
And no more she'd love that handsome lad that they call O'Donague
Now, I hear that Queen Victoria has a daughter fine and grand
Perhaps she'd take it into her head for to marry an Irishman
And if I could only get the chance to have a word or two
I'm sure she'd take a notion in the bold O'Donahue
On the Fourth of July, 1806
We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the Grand City Hall in New York
'Twas a wonderful craft
She was rigged fore and aft
And oh, how the wild wind drove her
She stood several blasts
She had twenty seven masts
And they called her The Irish Rover
We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of stone
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides
We had four million barrels of bones
We had five million hogs
And six million dogs
Seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million bails of old nanny-goats' tails
In the hold of the Irish Rover
There was awl Mickey Coote
Who played hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for a set
He was tootin' with skill
For each sparkling quadrille
Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet
With his smart witty talk
He was cock of the walk
And he rolled the dames under and over
They all knew at a glance
When he took up his stance
That he sailed in The Irish Rover
There was Barney McGee
From the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk
Who was scared stiff of work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Slugger O'Toole
Who was drunk as a rule
And Fighting Bill Treacy from Dover
And your man, Mick MacCann
From the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover
We had sailed seven years
When the measles broke out
And the ship lost its way in the fog
And that whale of a crew
Was reduced down to two
Just myself and the Captain's old dog
Then the ship struck a rock
Oh Lord! what a shock
The bulkhead was turned right over
Turned nine times around
And the poor old dog was drowned
And the last of The Irish Rover
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