I am a rovin' hackler lad
that loves the shamrock shore
My name is Pat McDonald
and my age is eighty -four
Beloved and well -respected
by my neighbours one and all
On St. Patrick's Day
I would like to stray
round Lavey and Grouse Hall
When I was young I danced and sung
and drank strong whisky too
It's sheep and shop that sold a drop
of real old Mountain Dew
But Pudgin's still on every hill,
the Peelers had no call
Round Sweet Stradone
I am well known,
round Lavey and Grouse Hall
I used to go from town to town
for hackling was my trade
There came the night I thought I'd die,
an honest living maid
For ere it's day be night or day,
the youth would always call
To have the crack with Paddy Jack,
the hackler from Grouse Hall
I think it's the range
how very much the times have changed
of late Coercion, that was all,
they're out with dealers on their bait
To take it, alas, is now alas,
the greatest crime of all
Oh, since Balfour placed that hungry beast,
the sergeant from Grouse Hall
Is busy too with the casserole,
he wanders night and day
He'll take a goat,
I'll buy the throat for one to better pray
The nasty skunk,
he'll swear you're drunk,
though you've had none at all
There is no peace around the place
since he came to Grouse Hall
It was on pretence of his offence,
he dragged me off to jail,
Alone to dwell in a cold cell,
me fortune to bewail.
Before he had a nap
like bedsit runs for vengeance call,
He rue'd the day he dragged away
the hackler from Rosehall.
He run't hell -bell down into hell
to search for Pudge in there,
And won't be loath to swear an oath
he found it in Kilkare.
The nymphs are fed from foot to head,
sheets, blankets, tick and all
Your wife undressed must leave the
nest for Jemmy for ungrows all
Come, old and young,
clear up your lung
and sing this little song
Come join with me and let them
see you all resent the wrong
And while I live
I'll always give a prayer for his downfall
And when I die, I don't deny,
I'll haunt him from grows
tall
You