The Black-Bird Songster/The Yorkshire Irishman

SONGS.

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THE YORKSHIRE IRISHMAN.

My father was once a great merchant,
As any in Ireland is found;
But faith! he could ne'er save a shilling,
Though tatoes he sold by the pound.
So says he to my mother one night,
To England suppose you and I go;
And the very next day by moonlight
They took leave of the county Sligo
Sing, fal de ral lal de ral la fal la de, &c.

That the land is all covered with water,
'Twixt England and Ireland you'll own,
And single misfortunes, they say,
To an Irishman ne'er came alone:
So my father, poor man, was first drowned,
Then shipwreck'd in sailing from Cork;
But my mother she got safe to land,
And a whisky shop opened in York.
Sing, fal de ral, &c.

Just a year after father was dead,
One night about five in the morn,
An odd accident happen'd to me,
For 'twas then that myself was first born:
All this I've been told by my mammy,
And surely she'll not tell a wrong;
But I don't remember nought of it,
Caze it happen'd when I were quite young.
Sing, fal de ral, &c.

On the very same day the next year,
For so ran the story of mother,
Tho same accident happened again,
But not to me, then, that were brother
So 'twas settled by old Father Luke,
Who dissolv'd all our family sins,
As wo both were born on the same day,
That we sartainly must have been twins.
Sing, fal do ral, &c.

'Twas agreed I should not go to school,
As learning I never should want;
Nor would they e'en teach me to read,
For my genius they said, it would cramp.
Now this genius of mine whero it lay,
Do but listen a while and you'll hear:—
'Twas in drawing—not landscapes and pictures,
No! mine were for drawing of beer.
Sing, fal de ral, do.

Some with only one genius are blest,
But I it appears had got two;
For when I had drawn off some beer,
I'd a genius for drinking it too.
At last I was drawn up to town,
Without in my pocket a farden;
But since I've earned many a crown,
By the shop here in sweet Common garden.
Sing, fal de ral, &c.

Now the end of my song's drawing near,
I'll tell ye, but that's nothing new;
Now all my ambition's to try,
And do what I can to draw you;
In which, if I do but succeed,
And my efforts beguile you of pain;
I entreat you'll not wait to be asked,
To come often and see me again.