There was a lady lived in Leith

There was a lady lived in Leith,
   A lady very stylish, man,
And yet, in spite of all her teeth,
   She fell in love with an Irishman,
A nasty ugly Irishman,
A wild tremendous Irishman,
   A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping,
Ramping, roaring Irishman.

His face was no ways beautiful,
   For with small-pox 'twas scarr'd across;
And the shoulders of the ugly dog
   Were almost double a yard across.
O, the lump of an Irishman,
The whisky-devouring Irishman -
   The great he-rogue, with his wonderful brogue,
The fighting, rioting, Irishman.

One of his eyes was bottle-green,
   And the other eye was out, my dear;
And the calves of his wicked-looking legs
   Were more than two feet about, my dear.
O, the great big Irishman,
The rattling, battling Irishman -
   The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering,
Leathering swash of an Irishman.

He took so much of Lundy-Foot,
   That he used to snort and snuffle-O;
And in shape and size, the fellow's neck,
   Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo.
O, the horrible Irishman,
The thundering, blundering Irishman -
   The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing,
Thrashing, hashing, Irishman.

His name was a terrible name, indeed,
   Being Timothy Thady Mulligan;
And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch,
   He'd not rest till he'd fill'd it full again.
The boozing, bruising Irishman,
The 'toxicated Irishman -
   The whisky, frisky, rummy, gummy,
Brandy, no dandy Irishman.

This was the lad the lady loved,
   Like all the girls of quality;
And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith,
   Just by the way of jollity.
O, the leathering Irishman,
The barbarous, savage, Irishman -
   The hearts of the maids, and the gentlemen's heads,
Were bother'd, I'm sure by this Irishman.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin