American Old Time Song Lyrics: 39 Mcgilligans Wedding

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 39

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Sung by G. W. Hunter.

At the neat little church of old Father McEmber,
One morn in September, 'tis well I remember,
'Twas close on a frost, cold enough for December.
When Barney McGilligan's wedding took place;
The bride was the charming Patricia O'Brady,
A neat little lady, who turned up O'Thady
Because a jackass of his ugly self made he,
And joined the militia, bad scran to his facet
The parson was there and neighbors galore,
With Bridget O'Moore and bridesmaids a score;
They had patent linoleum right up the floor,
To carry the thing out in style.

The scene in the vestry was over and done,
The two were made one; we laughed at the fun;
And for a salute, Kelly fired off his gun.
As slowly they came down the aisle,
'Twas nothing but kissing and laughing and crying;
The organ was playing, the boys were hurrahing,
For good luck to both widow Brady was praying;
And tears big as eggs they were shedding.
They pelted the elegant couple with rice,
Old slippers and shoes; it was awfully nice-
Well, I wished I'd been married myself, once or twice,
In the church at McGilligan's wedding.

To breakfast we went after these ceremonies;
'Twas held at Maloney's, the worst of old cronies;
The joints were hog's'trotters And picketed polonies,
With bride cake and little boys naked on top.
Says I, "It is time now the cake to be carving;"
Without more palaving, the bride commenced jaring.
O'Doyle look the first piece as if he was starving,
When Barney McGilligan told him to stop.
He swore hard And fast if O'Doyle touched the cake,
Without any mistake a fair ruction he'd make,
And nigh every bone in his body he'd break,
And terrible things he would do;

But Mr. O'Doyle simply murmured, "All right;
If you're so polite, I'm ready to fight."
So they cleared all the tables and chairs out of sight,
And then came a hullabaloo.
For each tried the other to give a good licking,
With dodging and tricking, and scratching and kicking,
Their fingers in each other's eyes they were sticking,
And gallons of gore they were shedding;
When right in the midst of the bother And scene,
Somehow or other I got shoved in between;
And both took my head for a punching machine,
On the day of McGilligan's wedding.

Now when they had finished their noses a ringing.
The all commenced singing; the fiddler was stringing,
And his old fiddle pong-panging and pinging.
To got it tuned up for the dancing all square.
Father McGee the flute was trumbing,
The piano strumming, a funny tune humming,
'Twix "God have the Queen and "The Campbells Are Coming,"
A conglomerated And mixed up affair.
Then sweet Kitty Flynn for a partner I found,
A dancer renowned; we went skipping 'round,
Like any race horse we got over the ground,
Till I suddenly missed Kitty Flynn.

I searched through the place; I went on every floor,
No Kitty I saw; I raved and I swore;
But I found her at last with a round dozen more,
Making love to a gallon of gin.
We kept up the singing and dancing and laughing.
All merrily chaffing, the pongclow quaffing.
Some of 'em whiskeying others four-halfing,
Till I made allusion to bedding:
Then Mr. McGilligan ended the rout.
Says he to his wife, "You are sleepy, no doubt;"
And he opened the door and he Hung us all out.
On the night of his glorious wedding.

Going home, Ted McMollow such queer songs did holloa,
That blackguards did follow. Says I to McMollow,
"Just come to my house and a thimhelful swallow,
And wait till the rascals have gone out of sight."
He did, and we drank till we scarcely could waddle;
It got in my noddle. Says Ted, "I shall toddle."
I felt like a mooney half-screwed molly-coddle,
And scarcely could speak, but I murmured "good-night!"
Then rolled into bed--that they'd gone, I'd no doubt-
But when he went out they set up a shout,
And gave him an elegant smack on the snout,
And busted out laughing like mad.

I rushed to the door and there I fouud Ted-
Well, nearly half dead. "Who's done it?" I said;
When somebody dropped half a brick on my head;
Which made me feel awfully bad;
The blackguards they gave me a kicking for nothing;
A thrashing And slashing, a bashing and boshing.
My bandages now form a tidy week's washing;
While they on the "mill" are now treading.
Should McGilligan's wife die, I am very sure he
At his second wedding will never see me;
I will go to his funeral with pleasure and glee,
But never again to his wedding.
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