American Old Time Song Lyrics: 39 He Is Irish
Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 39
HE IS IRISH.
Copyright, 1891, by White-Smith Music Publishing Co.
Words and Music by Loren Bragdon.
I am as true an Irishman as grows on Irish soil,
I came from County Gilloway, where Irishmen do toil;
My father was a Callahan, my mother was a Flynn,
There were twelve little Callahans-how happy we were then!
O'Dowd lived in the cellar, O'Rourke the second floor,
McCarthy in the garret, while I hung on the door;
And lots of sprees we had there, and mother'd have her say,
That Dad could clean out Ireland from the County Gilloway.
We were Irish, yes, Irish, all Irish through and through;
We used our fists, we used our feet, if not, our heads would do.
O'Rourke cleaned out McCarthy, and O'Dowd he made a lay,
That he could clean out Callahan from the County Gilloway.
I had as sweet a Colleen Bawn as you would wish to see,
She came from County Killaloo, where they drink good whiskey;
knew she had a dozen beaux, but this she promised me:
That we would sail together to the country of the free.
So we came on together across the rolling main;
Of course, she would get seasick, I got there just the same;
But soon we both were landed, and Bridget looked so gay
That all the people as she passed "She's French "I'd Lear them say.
But she's Irish, she's Irish, she's Irish, bless her soul;
Her hair was red, she looks half fed, and on her cheek's a mole;
Her feet will cover an acre lot. What I tell you now is true.
You could always tell she's Irish, from the County Killaloo.
I got a situation, and for which the country paid.
Then Bridget got another one, she was a French nurse maid;
I was a big policeman and the flower of my race,
Just let me turn a corner you'd see mischief in my face.
The boys they all would scamper, I'd chase them by the score;
The girls would always love me, I'd watch the small side door,
I know I'm very handsome, but this they'd Bay of me,
And I thought no one knew it in this country of the free:
He is Irish, he's Irish, brass buttons, plug and all;
He has his beat upon our street, all summer, spring and fall.
Now don't his mug look like a pug, born on St. Patrick's day?
You could always tell he's Irish, from the County Gilloway.