| There was Johnny McEldoo and McGee and me
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| And a couple of two or three went on the spree one day
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| We had a bob or two, which we knew how to blew
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| And the beer and whiskey flew and we all felt gay
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| We visited McCann’s, Maclaman’s, Humpty Dan’s
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| We then went into Swan’s, our stomachs for to pack
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| We ordered out a feed, which indeed, we did need
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| And we finished it with speed, but we still felt slack
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| Johnny McEldoo turned red white and blue
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| As a plate of irish stew he soon put out of sight
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| He shouted out «Encore!» |
| with a roar for some more
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| That he’d never felt before such a keen appetite
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| We ordered eggs and ham, bread and jam, what a cram
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| But him, we couldn’t ram, though we tried our level best
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| For everything we brought, cold or hot, mattered not
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| It went down him like a shot but he still stood the test
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| He swallowed tripe and lard by the yard, we got scared
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| We thought it would go hard when the waiter brought the bill
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| Told him to give o’er, but he swore he could lower
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| Twice as much again and more before he had his fill
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| He nearly supped a trough full of broth. |
| Says McGrath
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| «He'll devour the tablecloth if you don’t hold him in»
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| When the waiter brought the charge, McEldoo felt so large
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| He began to scowl and barge and his blood went on fire
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| He began to curse and swear, tear his hair in despair
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| And to finish the affair, called the shop man a liar
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| The shop man, he threw out and no doubt, he did clout
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| McEldoo he kicked about like an old football
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| Tattered all his clothes, broke his nose, I suppose
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| He’d have killed him with a few blows in no time at all
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| McEldoo began to howl and to growl, by my soul
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| Threw an empty bowl at the shop keeper’s head
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| Struck poor Mickey Flynn, peeled the skin from his chin
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| An a ruction did begin and we all fought and bled
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| The peelers did arrive, man alive, four or five
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| At us they made a drive for us all to march away
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| We paid for all the meat that we ate, stood a trait
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| And went home to ruminate on the spree that day |