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In the sweet county Limerick one cold winter’s night,
Oh the turf fires were burning when I first saw the light,
And a crazy old midwife went tipsy with joy,
As she danced round the floor with her slip of a boy
Singing ‘Bainne an bo is na gamhna’,
And the juice of the barley for me.
When I was a young lad of eight years or so,
With my turf and my primer to school I did go,
To a dirty old schoolhouse without any door,
And the schoolmaster lying dead drunk on the floor.
Singing ‘Bainne an bo is na gamhna’
And the juice of the barley for me.
At booklearnin’ I wasn’t a genius I’m thinkin’,
But soon I could beat the schoolmaster at drinkin’,
At wakes and at weddings for nine miles around,
In a corner blind drunk I was sure to be found.
Singing ‘Bainne an bo is na gamhna’,
And the juice of the barley for me.
Till one morning the priest read me out from the altar,
And said I would end all my days in a halter,
I’d dance a merry jig between Heaven and Hell,
And his words they did scare me the truth I now tell.
Singing ‘Bainne an bo is na gamhna’,
And the juice of the barley for me.
So the very next morning my way I did make,
Along to the vestry the pledge for to take,
I peeped in the window saw three priests in a bunch,
‘Round a great roarin’ fire drinkin’ tumblers of punch.
Singing ‘Bainne an bo is na gamhna’,
And the juice of the barley for me.
So from that day to this I have lived all alone,
Jack of all trades and master of none,
The sky is me roof, the earth is me floor,
And I’ll spend all me days drinkin’ poteen galore.
Singing ‘Bainne an bo is na gamhna’
And the juice of the barley for me.
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