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Royalty

I am off to Ireland

(2) I am off to Ireland

  I AM OFF TO IRELAND,

   So don't you cry for me.

[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]

Albert take your kiddies on your back
And come along with me,
I'm going off to Paddy's land
Some pastime for to see;
John Bull get me some halfpence
For I've got to clear the way,
Singing, butter milk and whiskey O !
And Paddy's land, huzza !
John Bull tell all your children they must not cry
for me,
I am going off to Paddy's land, enjoyment for to see.

Come little Rob, come Bright and Cob,
Come Grey and Jack v Russell,
Come Joey Hume, sing buy a broom
And tax the ladies bustles;
Come Arthur dear and banish fear,
And take your gun in hand
And fire at the ladies that
Live on your native land,
English ladies when I'm absent, don't into troubles
run,
I am only going to Paddy's land, to have a hit of fun,

If in Ireland I should have a son,
Oh, won't it be a lark!
On his shoulders with a murphy pot,
He surely will be marked
On his b- a pair of bagpipes
That never yet was played,
And on his little belly with
A slashing rate in aid.
And if the Irish lasses, bonny Albert you should
pinch,
I will knock you with a sausage, to a place called
Ballynainch.

I have been in bonny Scotland,
Where they whistled hey down diddle,
Where A'bert kissed the ladies till
He caught the Scottish fiddle ;
And now I'm going to Ireland,
If all displeases me.
Arrah mon dale I'll whop him,
Till he holloas gramachree
John Bull keep up up your spirits lad, and do not
weep for Vick,
I am going to learn my Albert for to twirl a black
thorn stick.

Come Sutherland and come Bucclengh,
And Palmerston in haste,
The steam is up we are on the way,
There is notime to waste,
Nosey and Bob and little John,
I have started off, oh lawk !
To boil a pot of praties for us,
When we get to Cork.
So you gentlemen ana ladies all, in England for us
pray,
That we while going to Paddy's land, may not be
cast away,

And when that we get into Cork,
Dear Albert you must mind,
To put on your German mackinintosh,
And button it behind,
And with the Irish lasses Al.,
One inch you mustn't jog.
For fear they should seduce you,
And lead you in a bog
All you that's left behind us pray do not cry for me
Butter milk & whiskey, there's a bag u, on my knee

May Heaven bless St. Patrick,
I have heard the people say,
He banished all the frogs and toads
From Ireland far away ;
I wish he'd come to England,
Where thousands he would please,
To banish all the rats and mice,
And all the bugs and fleas.
There is a good time coming Britons, do not weep
for me,
I am only going to Paddy's land to get a cup of e

Good bye my friends ond neighbours,
To Ireland I'll roam;
You English Bishops take the harp,
And strike up Garry Owen.
I have travelled through the Isle of Wight,
Through Scotland and France,
And now I'm going to Paddy's land,
With Al to learn to dance.
So ladies white we're absent, for me don't sigh and
weep,
But think about poor Paddy's land, when you are
fast asleep,

BIRT, Printer, 39, Great St. Andrew Street,
      Seven Dials. London.

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