One Paddy Doyle lived in Killarney;
He courted a girl named Biddy Tool;
His tongue was tipped with a tip of the blarney,
The same to Paddy was a golden rule.
Both day and dawn she was his colleen;
When to himself he’d often say,
What need I care when she’s my drolleen,
A coming to meet me on the way?
One heavenly night in last November,
Paddy went out to meet his love;
What night it was I don’t remember,
But the moon shone brightly from above.
That day the boy had got some liquor,
Which made his spirits light and gay,
Arrah! what’s the use in walking quicker,
When I know she’ll meet me on the way?
He tuned his pipes, and he fell a humming,
As gently onward he did jog,
But fatigue and whiskey overcame him,
So Paddy lay down upon the sod.
He was not long without a comrade,
One that could kick up the hay,
For a big jackass soon smelt out Paddy,
And lay down beside him on the way.
As Pat lay there in gentle slumbers,
Thinking of his Biddy dear,
He dreamt of pleasures without numbers,
A coming on the ensuing year.
He spread his arms out on the grass,
His spirits felt so light and gay,
But instead of Biddy he gripped the ass,
Roaring out, I have her anway.
He hugged and smugged his hairy messer,
And flung his hat to worldly care;
Says Pat, she’s mine, and may heaven bless her,
But oh, be my soul, she’s like a bear.
He put his hands on the donkey’s nose,
With that the ass began to bray;
Pat jumped up and roared out,
Who sarved me in such a way?
Pat ran home as fast as he could,
At railway speed, or as fast, I’m sure;
He never stopped a leg or foot,
Until he came to Biddy’s door.
By that time ’twas getting morning;
Down on his knees he fell to pray,
Crying, let me in, my Biddy darling,
I’m kilt, I’m murdered on the way.
He told her his story mighty civil,
While she prepared a whiskey glass,
How he hugged and smugged the hairy divil;
Go along, says she, ’twas Doran’s ass.
I know it was, my Biddy darling—
They both got married the very next day,
But he never got back his ould straw hat,
That the jackass ate up on the way.