American Old Time Song Lyrics: 25 Paddy Miles

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 25

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From the big town of Limerick lately I came,
I left Ireland solely bekase of my name;
For if anything wint wrong, or a mischief 'twas done,
Shure they'd lave all the blame on my mother's own son.
So my name now is Paddy O'Connor,
'Pon'an Irishman's thrue word and honor;
Oh, misfortune my curse light upon her,
'Twas she christened me Paddy Miles.

If a windy was broke, or a house robbed of tiles.
And you'a ax who done that, shure they'd say Paddy Miles;
Who was it set fire to his reverence's wig?
And cat the tail off Pat Flanigan's pig?
Who was it called Mishes Muloney a scollop?
And gave Biddy Magee's cat the jallop?
Some blackguards would hit me a wallop
And say it was you, Paddy Miles.

I worked in the bogs and behaved. as I thought.
From my master. Mick Flynn, a character brought.
But it done me no good, and I thought that was odd,
So I made up my mind for to leave the ould sod.
For the divil a wan would employ me.
The girls thert they would annoy me;
They threatened at once to destroy me.
All bekase I was called Paddy Miles.

Who cut off one of the tails of Pat Flanigan's coat?
And who broke the left horn of Ned Shoughnessy's goat?
Who, through the back door to the chapel got In,
And drank all the wine, blood and ounls? what a sin!
Who half murdered a poor-house inspector?
And fired at a police detector.
When, Miss Fagan, they tried to eject her?
Who was it, but you, Paddy Miles?

I trotted to Dublin to look for a place,
Tho' they'd ne'er saw me there, faix, they all knew my face;
The jackeens kept calling meself to annoy,
"There goes Paddy Miles, he's a Limerick boy!"
Till I flourished my sprig of shillalah,
And smattered their gobs so genteelly,
When the blood it began to flow freely.
Said I, "How do you like Paddy Miles?"

In short. before long to this country I came.
And found Paddy Miles here was the same;
If my name wasn't changed I was likely to starve.
For bad luck to the master could I sarve.
So Paddy O'Connor it is made. sir.
An' if you wish to get a smart blade, sir. -
Be me soul, then, you need not be afraid, sir.
For to hire me-I'm not Paddy Miles.
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E-Book - An Annotated Compendium of Old Time American Songs by James Alverson III