There's German flutes, Marocky boots, And Naples Macaronies; Bohaymia Has sent Bohay; Polonia her polonies.
There's granite flints That's quite imminse, There's sacks of coals and fuels, There's swords and guns, And soap in tuns, And Gingerbread and Jewels.
There's taypots there, And cannons rare; There's coffins fill'd with roses; There's canvas tints, Teeth insthrumints, And shuits of clothes by MOSES.
There's lashins more Of things in store, But thim I don't remimber; Nor could disclose Did I compose From May time to Novimber!
Ah, JUDY thru! With eyes so blue, That you were here to view it! And could I screw But tu pound tu, 'Tis I would thrait you to it!
So let us raise Victoria's praise, And Albert's proud condition, That takes his ayse As he surveys This Cristial Exhibition.
O TIM, did you hear of thim Saxons, And read what the peepers report? They're goan to recal the Liftinant, And shut up the Castle and Coort!
Our desolate counthry of Oireland, They're bint, the blagyards, to desthroy, And now having murdthered our counthry, They're goin to kill the Viceroy, Dear boy; 'Twas he was our proide and our joy!
And will we no longer behould him, Surrounding his carriage in throngs, As he weaves his cocked-hat from the windies, And smiles to his bould aid-de-congs? I liked for to see the young haroes, All shoining with sthripes and with stars, A horsing about in the Phaynix, And winking the girls in the cyars, Like Mars, A smokin' their poipes and cigyars.
Dear Mitchell exoiled to Bermudies, Your beautiful oilids you'll ope, And there'll be an abondance of croyin' From O'Brine at the Keep of Good Hope, When they read of this news in the peepers, Acrass the Atlantical wave, That the last of the Oirish Liftinints Of the oisland of Seents has tuck lave. God save The Queen--she should betther behave.
And what's to become of poor Dame Sthreet, And who'll ait the puffs and the tarts, Whin the Coort of imparial splindor From Doblin's sad city departs? And who'll have the fiddlers and pipers, When the deuce of a Coort there remains? And where'll be the bucks and the ladies, To hire the Coort-shuits and the thrains? In sthrains, It's thus that ould Erin complains!
There's Counsellor Flanagan's leedy 'Twas she in the Coort didn't fail, And she wanted a plinty of popplin, For her dthress, and her flounce, and her tail; She bought it of Misthress O'Grady, Eight shillings a yard tabinet, But now that the Coort is concluded, The divvle a yard will she get; I bet, Bedad, that she wears the old set.