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At hurling, my fellow could never be found,
For whoe’er I jostled soon came to the ground;
And the girls all swore they never met any
Could tickle their fancy like Dennis Delany.
With my whack about, see it out, Dennis my jewel,
Ah! why will you leave us? how can you be so cruel
Paddy Whack may good trudge it with Muttagh O’ Blaney,
We’ll part with them all for you, Dennis Delany.
Young Sheela O‘Shannon, who was so fond of me,
That whenever we meet we could never agree:
Says I, my dear Sheela, we’ll soon end the fray,
For no longer in sweet Tipperary I’ll stay;
When the girls all found I was going to leave them,
They swore that from death Father John cou’d not save them;
They would part with relations, tho’ ever so many,
If I’d let them go with me, sweet Dennis Delany.
With my whack about, &c.
To the road then I went, and I trudg’d it along,
And by way of being silent I lilted a song;
Hey for Dublin, says I, where I’ll see some fine lasses
Get married and drunk, nor e’er mind how time passes;
But when I arriv’d, and found every lady
Short-waisted—thinks I, they are married already;
By my soul now, says I, marriage here is the fashion,
To get young recruits for the good of the nation.
With my whack, &c.
