| Matty went out on a frozen night |
| Making heading for the pub his shoulders hunched up |
| tight |
| His head down on the railroad track |
| And his old cow Delia sad lowin' him back |
| He met with a dark and troubled man |
| As he passed him by called back at him |
| Hey Matty can’t you see what’s become of me |
| In this country of the blind |
| The house I’ve left is dead to me |
| To me rhyming and my poetry |
| All I’ve got is the beat of the stagger |
| Heading down the Curragh Line |
| But Matty passed on as quick as he could |
| He couldn’t stand such a crooked man sober |
| All he wanted was the lights of the bar |
| The Nightingale and the Wild Rover. |
| When he came in |
| They were sayin he was back |
| OH did Delia drive you out |
| With your spoutin' and your swearin'? |
| We don’t want to hear about Bunker Hayden |
| Maybe you’ll sing us the Girls of Kinkane. |
| The fear an ti eyed him steadily |
| As he handed him a pint of porter |
| You must have seen the bishop’s ghost tonight |
| To put the dry look back in your eye. |
| But Matty would not be taken in |
| By their jibin' and their regalin' |
| He found himself a fresh blown crew |
| And fell in with their sportin' and their bailin'. |
| As he was going home, in that very same spot |
| He met his dark familiar |
| He seen him comin' back down the line |
| And he was bright and strange and fine. |
| As he passed him by Matty threw out his arms |
| Trying to grab hold of his likeness |
| In the morning they found his frozen corpse |
| And the butt of Curragh Line. |
| And at the wake |
| They were lashin' down |
| The drops of brandy |
| The old fashioned habit |
| In the church they were lashin' down pounds and fivers |
| So Matty would be fine in the old by and by. |