The Rocky Road to Dublin

Well, in the merry month, I get from me—oh, My started—let the girls at Tulman get a groovin' head. Salute, Father Deac, you set me, darling mother, Drink a pint and give my grief and taste to your mother. They'll offer in the corn, eat where I was born, Cut a stout black torn to banish ghosts and goblins. A brand new pair of grows ridin' over the bargs and frighten all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.