| There was a country fiddler
|
| A jester, a riddler, a joker
|
| A singer of songs
|
| In every town he passed
|
| He’d stop to help the dancing master
|
| Entertain his straw-rope-foot throng
|
| And from a green cloth on his back
|
| He’d take his fiddle
|
| And some goodbye snow
|
| Now singing high, now murmuring low
|
| Now in the middle with his magic bow
|
| And all the people would know
|
| Mad Paddy’s gone back on the road
|
| A wire string fiddle is his only load
|
| He’s kicking up turf everywhere he goes
|
| And he’s on his own
|
| From the houses all the people they stare
|
| At his Horslips and his emerald green hair
|
| You know he keeps on moving
|
| He just doesn’t care
|
| When he’s on his own
|
| First he’ll play a slow, slow air
|
| So fair, to drive away your cares
|
| And bring a magic sleep
|
| Then the pace will quicken
|
| As you burst out of your slumber
|
| And find yourself up on your feet
|
| But then his magic tune will change
|
| To something strange, there’s something wrong
|
| What’s going on
|
| And through the tears you cry
|
| You’ll look, you’ll sigh, you’ll feel like dying
|
| Cos the fiddler’s gone
|
| Mad Paddy’s moving on
|
| Mad Paddy’s gone back on the road
|
| A wire string fiddle is his only load
|
| He’s kicking up turf everywhere he goes
|
| And he’s on his own
|
| In the corner there’s a smile on his face
|
| His fancy is taking him to some distant place
|
| You know his tunes keep changing
|
| He can’t keep the pace
|
| And he’s on his own
|
| Mad Pat’s on the road |