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DARBY O'LEARY Traditional Celtic One evening of late as I happened to stray To the County Tipperary I straight took my way To dig the potatoes and work by the day for a farmer called Darby O'Leary. I asked him how far we were bound for to go The night being dark and the cold wind did blow I was hungry and tired and my spirits were low for I got neither whiskey nor water. The dirty old miser he mounted his steed To the Galbally mountains he rode in great speed I followed behind 'til my poor feet did bleed when we stopped when his old horse was weary. When we came to his cottage I entered it first it seemed like a kennel or a ruined old church Says I to myself I am left in the lurch in the house of old Darby O'Leary I well recollect it was Michalmass night To a hearty good supper he did me invite A cup of sour milk that was more green than white And it gave me the trotting disorder The wet old potatoes would poison the cats And the barn where my bed was was swarming with rats The fleas would have frightened the fearless St. Pat who banished the snakes o'er the border. He worked me by day and he worked me by night, while he held an old candle to give me some light I wished his potatoes would die of the blight or himself would go off with the fairies. It was on this old miser I looked with a frown When the straw was brought in for to make my shakedown And I wished I had never seen him nor his town nor the sky above Darby O'Leary. I've worked in Kilconnel, I've worked in Killmore I worked in Knoockannie and Shamballamore In Kalisanaker and Sollahed Moore with farmers so decent and cheery. I've worked in Tipperary, the Rag and Ross Green At the mount of Killfegal, the Bridge of Orleans But such woeful starvation I never yet seen As I got from old Darby O'Leary


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