Push for PORTER

(THE BALLAD OF PERSSE O'REILLY)

Have you heard of one Humpity Dumpity
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
Curled up like Lord Olafa Crumple
By the butt of the Magazine Wall
Of the Magazine Wall
Hump helmet and all

He was one time our king of the castle
Now he's kicked about like a rotten old parsnip
And from Green Street he'll be sent by order of his worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy
To the jail of Mountjoy
Jail him and joy

He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace
Mare's milk for the sick seven dry Sunday's a week
Open-air love and religion's reform
And religious reform
Hideous in form

Arrah why says you couldn't he manage it
I'll go bail my fine dairyman darling
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidy's
All your butter is in your horns
His butter is in his horns
Butter his horns

We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chicken pox and china chambers
Universally provided by this soft-soaping salesman
Small wonder he'll cheat Erewan our local lads nicknamed him
When Chimpden first took the floor
With his bucketshop store
Down Bargainweg Lower

So snug he was in his hotel premises sumptuous
But soon we'll bonfire all his trash, tricks and trumpery
And tis short till sheriff Clancy'll be winding up his unlimited company
With the bailiffs bom on the door
Bimbam on the door
Then he'll bum no more

Sweet bad luck to the waves washed to our island
The hooker of that hammerfest viking
And Gall's curse on the day that Eblana bay
Saw his black and tan man-o-war
Saw his man-o-war
In the harbour bar

Where from roars Poolbeg, Cooking ha'pence he bawls
Donnezmoi scampitle, wick and wipin fampiny
Fingal Mac Oscar Onesine Bargearse Boniface
Thok's min gammelhole Norveegickers moniker
Og as ay are at gammelhole Norveegickers cod
He is begod

It was during some fresh water garden pumping
Or according to the Nursing Mirror while admiring the monkeys
That our heavyweight heathen Humpharey
Made bold a maid to woo
Woohoo what'll she do
The general lost her maidenloo

He ought to blush for himself the old hayheaded philosopher
For to go and shove himself that way on top of her
Begob he's the crux of the catalogue
Of our antediluvial zoo
Messrs. Billing and Coo
Noah's larks good as noo

He was joulting by Wellinton's monument
Our rotorious hippopopotamuns
When some bugger let down the back trap of the omnibus
And he caught his death of fusiliers
With his rent in his rears
Give him six years

Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children
But look out for his missus legitimate
When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker
Won't there be earwigs on the green
Big earwigs on the green
The largest ever you seen

Then we'll have a free trade Gaels band and mass meeting
For to sod that brave son of Scandiknavery
And we'll bury him down in Oxmanstown
Along with the devil and Danes
With the deaf and dumb Danes
And all their remains

And not all the kings men nor his horses
Will resurrect his corpus
For there's no true spell in Connacht or hell
That's able to raise a Cain