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(Piano Intro) |
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About a maid I'll sing a song, sing rikkity tikkity tin, |
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About a maid I'll sing a song, |
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Who didn't have her family long, |
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Not only did she do them wrong, |
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She did every one of them in, them in, |
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She did every one of them in. |
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One morning in a fit of pique, |
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One morning in a fit of pique, |
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She drowned her father in the creek, |
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The water tasted bad for a week, |
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And we had to make do with Gin, with Gin, |
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We had to make do with Gin. |
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Her mother she could never stand, |
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Her mother she could never stand, |
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And so a cyanide soup she planned, |
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The mother died with a spoon in her hand, |
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And her face in a hideous grin, a grin, |
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Her face in a hideous grin. |
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She set her sister's hair on fire, |
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She set her sister's hair on fire, |
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And as the smoke and flame rose higher, |
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Danced around the funeral pyre, |
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Playing a violin, -olin, |
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Playing a violin. |
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(This verse faster) |
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She weighted her brother down with stones, |
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She weighted her brother down with stones, |
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And sent him off to Davy Jones, |
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All they ever found were some bones, |
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And occasional pieces of skin, of skin, |
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Occasional pieces of skin. |
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One day when she had nothing to do, |
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One day when she had nothing to do, |
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She cut her baby brother in two, |
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And served him up as an Irish Stew, |
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And invited the neighbours in, -bours in, |
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Invited the neighbours in. |
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And when at last the police came by, |
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And when at last the police came by, |
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Her little pranks she did not deny, |
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To do so she would have had to lie, |
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And lying she knew was a sin, a sin, |
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Lying she knew was a sin. |
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(This verse faster) |
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My tragic tale I won't prolong, |
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My tragic tale I won't prolong, |
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And if you do not enjoy my song, |
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You've yourselves to blame if it's too long, |
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You should never have let me begin, begin, |
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You should never have let me begin. |
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