Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Humpty Dumpty, artist - The Dubliners. Album song At Home With, in the genre Кельтская музыка
Date of issue: 19.07.2016
Record label: TY4TM
Song language: English
Humpty Dumpty |
Introduction by Ronnie, |
James Joyce is renown for written some very |
Very complicated material |
Surprisingly he wrote the next song, which is very simple |
Have you heard o' one Humpty Dumpty? |
How he fell with a roll and a rumble |
Crawled up like lord Oliver Crumble |
As the boot of the magazine wall |
The magazine wall, hump helmet and all |
He was one time our king of the castle |
Now he’s kicked about like a rotten old parsnip |
And from Green Street he’ll be sent |
By order of his worth ship |
To the penal jail of Mount Joy |
To the jail of Mount Joy, jail him with joy |
He was for father of all things for to bother us |
Slow coaches and the market contraceptive for the metropolis |
Mayors milk for the sick |
Seven dry Sunday’s a week |
Open air love and religion reform |
Religion reforms, so hideous and forms |
And o' why says you couldn’t he menage it |
I’ll go bail me fine dearie mount darling |
Like the bumping bullet the Cassidy’s |
All his butter’s in his horns |
His butter’s in his horns, butter his horns |
Sweet Pad looks to the waves washed to old Ireland |
The hooker of the hammer fast Viking |
And gold’s cursing the day that at Blanna bay |
Saw his black and tan men a war |
Saw his black and tan men a war, at the Harber bar |
He was jointed by Wellington’s monument |
O' a retorious hippo' po potomus |
When some bugger let down the back strap at the omnibus |
And he got his dead with of fusiliers |
When he’s rented his rears, give em six years |
Oh he’ll have a free trade gaels banned in mass meeting |
For to saws that brave son of Scandinavery |
And we’ll berry him down in Oxmond’s Town |
Along with the devil and Dane’s |
The death and dom Dane’s, and all their remains |
Now all the Kings men not his horses |
Could never resurrect his corpses |
For there’s no true spell, in Curington hell |
That’s able to raise a cane |