the minute the dawn showed the first streak av gray
McCarty would rise and this tune he would play:

"Pertaters and fishes make very good dishes,
Saint Patherick's Day in the mornin'!"
With tootin' and blowin' he kept it a-goin',
For rest was a thing he was scornin';
And thim that were lazy could niver lie aisy,
But jumped out av bed at the warnin';
For who could be stayin' aslape with him playin'
"Saint Patherick's Day in the mornin'?"

And thin whin the b'ys would fall in fer parade,
McCarty'd be gay with his buttons and braid,
And whin he stipped out fer ter head the brigade,
Why, this was the beautiful tune that he played:

"By--Killarney's--lakes--and--fells,
Toot--tetoot toot--toot--toot--dells!"
And--the heel av--McCart--y's--boot
Marked--the time at--iv'--ry--toot,
While--the slide at--aich--bass--note
Seemed--ter slip half--down--his throat,
As--he caught his--breath--be--spells:--
"By--Killarney's--lakes--and--fells!"

Now McCarty he lived ter be wrinkled and lean,
But he died wan fine day playin' "Wearin' the green,"
And they sould the ould horn to a British spalpeen,
And it bu'st whin he tried ter blow "God save the Queen";