MURPHY DELANEY.
Tune—“ The Priest in his boots.
It was Murphy Delaney, so funny and frisky,
Reel’d into a shebeen to get his skin full,
And popp’d out again, pretty well lin’d with whisky,
As fresh as a shamrock, and blind as a bull,
When a trifling accident happen’d our rover,
Who took the quay-side for the floor of his shed,
And the keel of a coal-barge he just tumbled over,
And thought all the while he was going to bed.
And sing phililu, hubbubboo, whack boderation,
Everyman in his humour, as Teague kiss’d the pig.
Some folks passing by, pull’d him out of the river
And got a horse-doctor his sickness to mend,
Who swore that poor Murph’ was no longer a liver,
But dead as a devil, and there was an end.
Then they sent for the coroner’s jury to try him;
But Murph’ not much liking this comical strife,
Fell to twisting and turning the while they sat by him,
