And should they talk of Yankee brag,
We'll tache them how to rue it.
Go tell them how all day you stud,
Wid both your nate feet in the mud,
As if it had been Saxon blood
And you wor fightin' thro' it!

O OAKEY, darlin'! you're the wan
Who've tuk ould Erin by the han';
We'll pummel the Britishers every man.
And make you King of Ireland!

Your innimies say you're not sincere,
Nor care a straw for Irish here,
Unless whin 'lection time is near,
And Irish votes are wanted.
But don't you throuble yourself at all,
We'll drive your innimies to the wall;
We know you better, OAKEY HALL,
Than take sich stuff for granted.

No! OAKEY, darlin', you're the wan
Who've tuk ould Erin by the han';
We'll pummel the Britishers every man,
And make you King of Ireland!

They say you want to be Mayor once more,
And after that, to be Governore--
As if you wouldn't be needed before,
To lade the Faynians over.