This page has been validated.
8
One pinch of Irish blackguard,
I'll take to give me ease.
(Sneezes) tol de rol.
Now I’m quite drowsy growing,
For this very morn,
I rose when cock was crowing—
Excuse me if I yawn.
(Yawns) tol de rol.
I’m not in a cue for a frolic.
Can't my spirits keep,
Love, or the windy cholic,
'Tis that makes me weep.
(Cries) tol de rol.
I’m not in a mood for crying,
Care’s a silly calf,
It not to get fat you’re contriving,
The only way’s to laugh.
(Laughs) tol de rol.
FINIS.
