TRAA-DY-LIOOAR
THERE'S a wickad little falla that goes among us here,
An' the wickadness thass at him is tellin' far an'
near;
He's prowlin' in the haggart an' in at every dhure,
An' coaxin' an' persuadin',—an' his name is
Traa-dy-Liooar.
The house is all through others, the childher's
late for school,
The man is spendin'all his time in lookin'for a tool,
The wumman's tired thremendjus with clearin'
up the flure,
An' the wan that's doin' all the jeel is wickad
Traa-dy-Liooar.
The fields is full of cushag, the gates is patched
with gorse,
You'll hardly see the harness for the mire upon
the horse;
The cows is shoutin' shockin', an' puzzlin' them
for sure,
Is the waitin' doin' on them at that tejus Traa-
dy-Liooar.
There's a power of foes within us, and enemies
without,
But the wan that houls the candle is that little
lazy lout;
So just you take an' scutch him, an' put him to
the dhure,
An' navar let him in again, that tejus Traa-dy-Liooar.