Well, in the merry month of June, from my home I started, left the girls of Tuam nearly broken-hearted, saluted, father dear, kissed my darling mother, drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears smothered the knife to reap the corn, leave where I was born, cut to stout like thorn to banish ghosts and goblins, a brand new pair of brogues, rattling all the bugs and frightening all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three, four, five, hunt the hare and shorten her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack for all the rah.
Well, in Mullingar that night, arrested limbs so weary, started by daylight, me spirits blithe and airy, took a drop of the pure, keep me heart from sinking, that's the paddy's cure, whenever he's on for drinking a sea, the lassie's smile, laughing all the while, at me curious style, could set your heart to bubble and ask me was I hired, wages I required till I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three, four, five, hunt the hare and shorten her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack for all the rah.
Well, in Dublin next arrived a thought, it's such a pity to be so soon deprived of view of that fine city, so then I took a stroll, all among the quality bundle it was stole, all in a neat locality, something crossed me mind, when I looked behind, no fundle could I find upon me stick, a wobbling acquiring for the rogue, said me carnot brogue, wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three, four, five, hunt the hare and shorten her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack for all the rah.
Well, from there I got away, me spirits never fail, and landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing, the captain at me roared, said that no room had he, when I jumped aboard a cabin, found for paddy down among the pigs, played some funny rigs, danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling when I folly head, wished me self was dead or better far instead, on the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three, four, five, hunt the hare and shorten her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack for all the rah.
Well, the boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed, called me self a fool, I could no longer stand, dead blood began to boil, temper I was losing, poor old Aaron's Isle, they began abusing, a rabby soul, says I, me shillelagh, I let fly, all my boys awry, so I was hobbling with the lottery, joy and in the afray, we quickly cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three, four, five, hunt the hare and shorten her down the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack for all the rah.
.