| One evening of late as I happened to stray
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| To the County Tipperary I straight took my way
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| To dig the potatoes and work by the day
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| for a farmer called Darby O’Leary.
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| I asked him how far we were bound for to go The night being dark and the cold wind did blow
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| I was hungry and tired and my spirits were low
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| for I got neither whiskey nor water.
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| The dirty old miser he mounted his steed
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| To the Galbally mountains he rode in great speed
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| I followed behind 'til my poor feet did bleed
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| when we stopped when his old horse was weary.
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| When we came to his cottage I entered it first
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| it seemed like a kennel or a ruined old church
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| Says I to myself I am left in the lurch
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| in the house of old Darby O’Leary
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| I well recollect it was Michalmass night
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| To a hearty good supper he did me invite
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| A cup of sour milk that was more green than white
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| And it gave me the trotting disorder
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| The wet old potatoes would poison the cats
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| And the barn where my bed was was swarming with rats
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| The fleas would have frightened the fearless St. Pat
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| who banished the snakes o’er the border.
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| He worked me by day and he worked me by night,
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| while he held an old candle to give me some light
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| I wished his potatoes would die of the blight
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| or himself would go off with the fairies.
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| It was on this old miser I looked with a frown
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| When the straw was brought in for to make my shakedown
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| And I wished I had never seen him nor his town
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| nor the sky above Darby O’Leary.
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| I’ve worked in Kilconnel, I’ve worked in Killmore
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| I worked in Knoockannie and Shamballamore
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| In Kalisanaker and Sollahed Moore with farmers so decent and cheery.
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| I’ve worked in Tipperary, the Rag and Ross Green
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| At the mount of Killfegal, the Bridge of Orleans
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| But such woeful starvation I never yet seen
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| As I got from old Darby O’Leary |