THE IRISH ROW.
Written by Tom Browne, Esq. Sung by Mr. Frank Caffrey.
It was a week last Saturday I went out on a spree.
The day that Dolan's daughter, Ann, got married to M.ncee,
Things went all right 'till near midnight, when, by the holy fly,
Magee gave Mick Maginnis a big polthogtie in the eye;
For Mick began his blathering and spouting of Honie Rule,
And kase Magee tould him to shut, he said he was a fool.
He said there was a million men all ready in New York,
A million more in Dublin, and a million more in Cork,
And millions more already drilled and armed, armed and ready for to rise,
To free ould Ireland, Denis said, "shut up, you're telling lies.
If they are ready for to rise, why don't they rise," said he,
"And set about their work at once and get ould Ireland free?"
"Sure there you show your ignorance," to Denis then says Mick,
"There's forty million Irishmen, and they would rise up quick,
But the Bobbies won't allow them," as he said it Denis rose.
And banged Maginnis in the eye and on the head and nose.
As soon as Denis struck at Mick, Mick's brother with a jug
Struck Denny right across the gob and spoilt his purty mug;
The Dolan's then joined in the fray, all helping up Magee,
And soon the streets were up in arms and joined the melee;
Relations of both parties took their stands both left And right,
Soon the field of Waterloo was nothing like the sight;
Skin and hair was flying round, And so was stones and bricks.
Heads were cracked and backs were broke with pokers, tongs, and sticks;
Half-a-dozen Bobbies came and tried to interfere,
I will bet they did no duty for the next two year;
Then they called the soldiers out, but they were put to rout,
Then they went and called the Ballyrag Militia out.
They, of course, joined in the row, on fun and plunder bent,
For the bould policemen and the regulars they went;
They stole the Bobbies' truncheons and their watches and all else.
Then they set about with the buckle end of belts.
While the people left and right were slaughtering away.
Till somebody telegraphed to London for to say:
"Send the special constables and regular police,
Your army and your navy, too, and give them guns apiece;
Your boats and men-of-war ships, too, for, if you don't, we vow
There'll be a murder done-they've scalped a magistrate just now."
At last somebody thought of what would quickly stop the fun,
He telephoned the Fire Brigade, and they came with a run.
They rigged the pumps and set to work by turning on the hose.
Then the people flew just like so many frightened crows.
Leaving ears and eyes and noses lying on the field;
This is what was told me by the man who made them yield:
"Irishmen will stand" says he, "real good ould Irish Pats,
And fight their foe till both drop dead like two Kilkenny cat" .
In front of powder, shot and shell, they'll stand the battle's heat.
They'll stand being drowned in whiskey, but they can't stand water-neat."