American Old Time Song Lyrics: 17 Let Her Go, Gallagher 2

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 17

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Copyright, 1887, by J. Gib. Winner.

Tis said Philadelphia's a very fine place
To those who love quiet and dote on renown,
For its people are proud if they only can trace
A high pedigree from the grandfather down;
Her people go slow, they would make you believe.
And their lofty pretentions are nothing but sham,
But there's quite a large number you cannot deceive,
So let 'em go, Gallagher, don't be a clam!

There's old Moneymaker who runs a big shop4
And sells all the goodies a city can need;
He'll supply you with dry goods and wet ginger-pop,
And fool you on prices if he can succeed.
There's lots of sharp fellows to shut up your eye,
And stick you with mutton when paying for lamb;
So too mustn't remark on their morals awry,
But let 'em go, Gallagher, don't be a clam!

The streets are so dirty that many complain,
Too1 people are waiting and living in hope,
That Wagner may push the contractors again,
And send them a cargo of Frank Siddall's soap.
Bad water so muddy the city supplies,
That it looks like a paste as it goes o'er the dam;
In drinking it down you must just shut your eyes,
And let her go, Gallagher, don't be a clam'

Now Stokely is doing his best to correct
The very loose morals of many, I think;
His laws of morality all must respect,
Especially the mixing of music and drink.
The poor pet canary no longer can sing
Mid the odor of beer, and of mustard and ham;
So lay down the glass, with its sad hollow ring,
And let her go, Gallagher, don't be a clam!

High license they say will not work around here,
And where is the freedom of which we all boast,
If a man is deprived of his whisky and beer,
His very best comfort and what he loves best?
The fact is our country is rather too free
For those who object to thy laws, Uncle Sam,
It costs but a trifle to recross the sea,
So let 'em go, Gallagher, don't be a clam!

They say that no rum is allowed in the park,
But go tell Mayor Fitler. providing he cares,
There's many things done in the ways that are dark,
And show him the avenue leading up stairs.
Just take him around where the crowd is not seen,
And let him endure a few moments jam
Up in the sky parlor, where thousands have been,
Yes, let him go, Gallagher, don't be a clam!

We have, it is said, quite the biggest town hall,
Of any fine village outside of New York;
I mention that city, for though it is small,
It holds quite a number from Deutschland and Cork.
We have lots of policemen to keep down the noise,
Who arrest the attention of Quakers so calm,
But no one's afraid, not even the boys,
So let 'em go, Gallagher, don't be a clam!
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