The Ghost of Mike Walsh

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Melody - "Rosin the Beau"; Seq. by Barry Taylor
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Tare an' ages, ye spolpyeens bo asy
An' let me lie quite in me grave;
Blud an' ouns, are yees all turn'd crazy
That about me yees constantly rave?
Och! how yees can pile an the woe o-o
Wid yer rappins an' rhymins so low;
Even me body ye's won't let be asy,
Though I'm out av the shell now yees know.

2. First an' foremost, appears a big blaggard
Purtindin' he's makin' a song;
Throth he'd betther make hay in a haggard
Wid a pitchfork that has but one prong:
He'd be of some use there ye's know-o-o
But his rhymin's a horrible show,
Bad loock to his humpback'd school-masther,
That he edicated him so.

3. The same chap too cuts up some capers,
While slyly he tips yees the wink;
An' declares that 'tis down an the papers
That Mike did indulge in sthrong dbrink,
Well, fhot if he did? don't yees know-o-o
That a dhrop always dhrives away woe,
An' I'm shure a small taste av the craythur
Would keep out the cowld here also.

4. Ye villyans, say fhere is the merit?
In this way disturbin' the dead,
That yees won't let a dacent man's sperrit
Rest quite in his heavenly bed.
There's a difference sure it is thru u-u,
In me now an' when wid yees ye crew
Up here I'm a singular sperrit,
There I a plurality knew.

5. I ax you too Misther F. W.
Tho' so laniently wid me ye dealt--
Ye blaggard, did I ever throuble you,
Whin on your dirty planet I dwelt?
But still ye're a tight chap I know-o-o
An' a broth av a boy, faith also;
But eternally now ye'll obleege me,
Af no longer ye'll bother so.


From American Songs and Ballads, Series 2, Volume 2.

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