Wit & humour > Comic songster

COMIC SONGSTER.
What for should I slog you of Helen and Troy,
Or the mischief that came by her flirting;
There’s Biddy M'Clinch, the pride of Fermoy,
Twice as much of a Helen that’s certain.
Then for Venus, Medica, or queen Cleopatra,
Bad luck to the word could be said, O,
By the rollicking boys, for war, women and noise.
The boys of the Irish Brigade, O!
What for should I sing of classical fun,
Or of games whether Grecian or Persian;
Sure the Curragh’s the place where the knowing
one's done,
And Mallow that flogs for diversion.
For fighting, for drinking, for women and all.
No time like our times e’er were made, O,'
By the rollicking boys, for war, women and noise,
The boys of the Irish Brigade, O!
THE QUEER FOLK O’ THE SHAWS.
I thought ae day unto mysel
Fd like to see a Race,
An’ for the best o’ sport I’m tell’d
The shaws is just the place.
So I wash’t my face, spree’t out mysel
Wi’ a’ my Sunday braws,
And wi’ a stick into my han’
I started for the shaws.—Tol de rol, &c.
My mither tell’t me to beware,
And min’ wbat I was about,
For, says she, there’s queer folk there,
And you’ll soon find that out:
Says she, ye might be trod to death
Beneath the horse’s paws,
And mind that the auld saying’s true
There’s queer folk in the Shaws.
Tolde