The Black-Bird Songster/The Irish Smuggler

For other versions of this work, see The Irish Smugglers.

THE IRISH SMUGGLER.

From Brighton two Paddies walked under the cliff,
For pebbles and shells to explore,
When too a small barrel was dropt from a skiff,
Which floated at length to the shore;
Says Dermont to Pat, we the owner will bilk,
To-night we'll be merry and frisky,
I know it as well as my own mother's milk,
Dear joy, 'tis a barrel of whisky.

Says Pat, I'll soon broach it, a fortunate lot,
Now Pat, you must know was no joker;
I'll go to Tom Murphy, who lives in the cot,
And borrow his kitchen hot poker.
Twas said and 'twas done, the barrel was bor'd,
No bachanals evor felt prouder,
en Paddy found out a small error on board,
The whisky, alas! was gunpowdor.

With sudden explosion he flow o'er the ocean,
And high in air sported a leg;
Yet instinct prevails, when philosophy fails,
So he kept a tight hold of the keg,
But Dermont bawled out with a terrible shout,
I'm not to be choused, Mr Wiseman;
If you do not come down, I'll run into the town,
And by St Patrick I'll tell tho Exciseman.