| Come hither me boys, well, I’ll make some old noise
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| And I’ll tell you of stories would provoke you to ponder
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| Your station in life, should you e’er take a wife
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| Who would cause naught but strife and pull all joys asunder
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| The boys of the Nation, with great trepidation
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| Do swear that they ne’er will consent to be throthed.,
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| But when out cavorting, imbibing, and courting
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| Their senses all dulled, they renege on their oath
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| For the face of a blackguard may look worn and haggard
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| But full is his soul as he tears on the spree
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| He has no distraction to give satisfaction
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| It’s happy he is to live single and free
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| At each wedding feast, as they call in the priest
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| To invoke marriage blessings, the boys wonder in silence
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| If God will allow this poor man take a vow
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| To surrender his will and be doomed to compliance
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| For many’s the bachelor gets into a match
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| For the glories of love and connubial bliss
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| Too late to discover his wife’s not his lover
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| And he wishes his Missus was still just a Miss
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| There was young Packy Hayes, all singin' the praise
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| Of the wee lass who’s father was cursed with the naggin'
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| We knew if he married himself would be harried
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| His songs now lament that his spirits are draggin'
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| For the new Mrs. Hayes had a mouth full of nays
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| That she learned from her mother, a creature displeasin'
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| Their schemes and their plots tied Packy in knots
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| They’d prevent peace from pleasin' his soul any season
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| So young men take care if a wedding you dare
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| Pick a girl that was raised to take great joy in life
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| The woman you wed should delight in your bed
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| And not stand on your hand like poor Packy’s wife
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| And you old ones take warning, lest you be left mourning
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| That no man will wed or take your daughter’s hand
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| If you will impart the goodwill of your heart
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| It’s of peace and contentment you’ll have full command |