I was to to me oxters in mud sir,
A doin' me bit in the bog,
When I came upon something quite hard sir,
Like a bit of a stone or a log.
T'was a chest of old Irish bog oats sir,
And knowing not what I might find,
Sure, I chanced to my luck wid de fairies,
And I took a wee look dere inside.
T'was an ancient old Irish French letter,
Now boys what I'm tellin yer's true,
T'was an ancient old Irish French letter,
A relic of Brian Boru.
T'was an ancient old Irish French letter,
Made of Elk hide and full a foot tall,
With a little brass plate on the end sir,
With his name and his stud fee and all.
And I cast me mind back through the ages,
To the days of that hairy old Celt,
And I see Echrad on the bed sir,
And Brian Boru in his pelt.
And I heard him remarking quite plainly,
Now darlin' let's get dis ting right,
Sure, you had your own way last night dear,
'tis the hairy side outside tonight.
|
