American Old Time Song Lyrics: 33 Whats The Matter With Your Feet

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 33

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What's the Matter with Your Feet?
Copyright, 1891, by Scott Washington & Co.
Words and Music by Harry S. Miller.

Just a week ago this very day we buried old McKough;
Sure, he ought to have died a year ago, but that he didn't do;
Arrah, we all went to the funeral, for we'd nowhere else to go,
And I must confess, upon my life. It was an awful show;
It was seen that McAnally never rode in style so neat;
he couldn't keep his blessed boots down from off the seat;
And it made the driver fighting mad, we saw that very well,
And all along the street he'd stop his horses for to yell:

Chorus.
Ho, ho, there, McAnally, what's the matter with your feet?
Hi, hi, there, McAnally, don't you let them go to sleep;
You monkey-headed dagoe, take them down from off the scat;
Ho, ho, there, McAnally, what's the matter with your feet?

Soon we reached the cemetery, which was on the river side;
Mac he said he'd have the driver's life that minute if he died;
Soon as he leaped out from the carriage we saw murder in his eye,
But the driver shut the other just as soon as he let fly;
Then he clinched with McAnally and he gave him quick the foot,
Down they went together with an Irish yell and whoop;
You can bet that Mac was 'in it,' too, he never touched the ground,
We couldn't help but shout at him as he had the driver down:

Chorus.
Ho, ho, there, McAnally, what's the matter with your feet?
Hi, hi, there, McAnally, up and kick him down the street;
You lazy-looking gossoon, would you spoil your hands so neat?
IIo, ho, there, McAnally, what's the matter with your feet?

Now the mourners they did gather round at such a sight as that.
And they thought it was the native games-no funeral they were at;
Arrah! they wrestled Graeco-Roman in a dozen styles or more,
And sorra a bit they ever cared for coppers or the law;
Now they fought out to the water's edge, the driver threw Mac in;
he yelled for us to save him-sure, none of us could swim;
We watched him struggling there awhile, he soon went out of sight,
We threw him bricks and everything, and yelled with all our might:

Chorus.
Ho, ho, there, McAnally, what's the matter with your feel?
Hi, Hi, there, McAnally, is the water very deep?
You crazy-splashing dummy, keep your head from underneath;
Ho, ho, there, McAnally, what's the matter with your feet?
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E-Book - An Annotated Compendium of Old Time American Songs by James Alverson III