The Widow Mccarty.
Tune- "Kate Kearney."
Oh, have you not heard of McCarty,
Who lived in Tralee, good and hearty?
He had scarce lived two score when death came to his door,
And made a widdy of Mrs. McCarty.
Near by lived one Paddy McManus,
Who, by the way, was a bit of a genius;
At his trade he was good, cuttin' figures of wood,
Says he: I'll go see the widdy McCarty.
Xow Paddy, you know, was no ninny,
He agreed, for a couple of guineas,
To cut out a stick the dead image of Micky,
And take it home to widdy McCarty.
As the widdy she'd sit by the fire,
Every night before she'd retire,
She'd take the stick that was dead, put it into the bed,
And lay down by the wooden McCarty.
Now Pat wasn't long to discover
That the widdy was wanting a lover;
He made love to her strong, and you'll say he wasn't wrong,
For in three days he wed the widdy McCarty.
Their friends, for see them long tarried,
To bed Pat and the widdy they carried;
She took up the stick that was cut for Micky,
And under the bed shoved the wooden McCarty.
In the mornin', when Paddy was raisin',
He wanted somethin' to set the fire blazin';
Says she: If you're in want of a stick, just cut a slice off Micky,
For I'm done with my wooden McCarty.