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One evening of late as I happened to stray |
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To the County Tipperary I straight took my way |
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To dig the potatoes and work by the day |
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for a farmer called Darby O'Leary. |
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I asked him how far we were bound for to go |
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The night being dark and the cold wind did blow |
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I was hungry and tired and my spirits were low |
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for I got neither whiskey nor water. |
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The dirty old miser he mounted his steed |
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To the Galbally mountains he rode in great speed |
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I followed behind 'til my poor feet did bleed |
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when we stopped when his old horse was weary. |
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When we came to his cottage I entered it first |
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it seemed like a kennel or a ruined old church |
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Says I to myself I am left in the lurch |
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in the house of old Darby O'Leary |
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I well recollect it was Michalmass night |
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To a hearty good supper he did me invite |
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A cup of sour milk that was more green than white |
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And it gave me the trotting disorder |
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The wet old potatoes would poison the cats |
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And the barn where my bed was was swarming with rats |
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The fleas would have frightened the fearless St. Pat |
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who banished the snakes o'er the border. |
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He worked me by day and he worked me by night, |
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while he held an old candle to give me some light |
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I wished his potatoes would die of the blight |
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or himself would go off with the fairies. |
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It was on this old miser I looked with a frown |
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When the straw was brought in for to make my shakedown |
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And I wished I had never seen him nor his town |
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nor the sky above Darby O'Leary. |
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I've worked in Kilconnel, I've worked in Killmore |
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I worked in Knoockannie and Shamballamore |
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In Kalisanaker and Sollahed Moore with farmers so decent and cheery. |
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I've worked in Tipperary, the Rag and Ross Green |
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At the mount of Killfegal, the Bridge of Orleans |
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But such woeful starvation I never yet seen |
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As I got from old Darby O'Leary |
