Bad English

While in  the merry month of May from me home I started,

Left the girls of Tuam so sad and broken hearted,

Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother,

Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother,

Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,

Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins;

Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs

And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.



One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road

all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !



In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary,

Started by daylight next morning blithe and early,

Took a drop of pure to keep me heartfrom sinking;

Thats a Paddy's cure whenever he's on drinking.

See the lassies smile, laughing all the while

At me curious style, 'twould set your heart a bubblin'

Asked me was I hired, wages I required,

I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.



One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road

all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !



In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity

To be soon deprived a view of that fine city.

So then I took a stroll, all among the quality;

Me bundle it was stole, all in a neat locality.

Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind,

No bundle could I find upon me stick a wobblin'

Enquiring for the rogue, they said me Connaught brogue

Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.



One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road

all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !



From there I got away, me spirits never falling,

Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing.

The Captain at me roared, said that no room had he;

When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy.

Down among the pigs, played some hearty rigs,

Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling;

When off Holyhead I wished meself was dead,

Or better for instead on the rocky road to Dublin.



One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road

all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !



Well the boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed,

Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it.

Blood began to boil, temper I was losing;

Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing.

"Hurrah me soul" says I, me Shillelagh I let fly.

Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobble in,

With a load "hurray !" joined in the affray.

We quitely cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin.



One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down

the rocky road and all the way to Dublin,

Whack follol de rah !