| In the town of Ballybay, there was a lassie dwelling
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| I knew her very well and her story’s well worth telling
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| Her father kept a still and he was a good distiller
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| But when she took to the drink, well the devil wouldn’t fill her
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| Ring-a-ding-a-dong, ring-a-ding-a-daddy-o
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| Ring-a-ding-a-dong, whack fol the daddy o
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| She had a wooden leg that was hollow down the middle
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| She used to tie a string on it and play it like a fiddle
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| She fiddled in the hall and she fiddled in the alleyway
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| She didn’t give a damn, for she had to fiddle anyway
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| She said she couldn’t dance, unless she had her wellies on
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| But when she had them on, she could dance as well as anyone
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| She wouldn’t go to bed, unless she had her shimmy on
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| But when she had it on, she would go as quick as anyone
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| She had lovers by the score, every Tom and Dick and Harry
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| She was courted night and day, but still she wouldn’t marry
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| But then she fell in love with a fellow with a stammer
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| When he tried to run away, well she hit him with a hammer
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| She had children up the stairs, she had children by the byre
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| And another ten or twelve, sitting roaring by the fire
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| She fed them on potatoes and on soup she made with nettles
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| And lumps of hairy bacon that she boiled up in the kettle
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| She led a sheltered life, eating porridge and black pudding
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| And she terrorized her man, until he died quite sudden
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| And when her husband died, well she wasn’t very sorry
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| She rolled him in a bag and she threw him in a quarry |