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A New Song
Of the Assassination of the Old Informer J. S. Carey

You gallant sons of Erin attend unto my song
And I think I'll cause you for to smile before it's very long;
A shout has reached to Derry and gone from shore to shore
That the old Informer Carey, good joy, is now no more.

Some gallant son has cocked his gun and hasn't missed his aim,
For the gun he cocked has fairly knocked the puff clean out of James
Before now I must allow he's on the other shore
Where Belzebub with his big club will make him suffer sore.

Where will the tears go that are sure to flow from everyone you meet.
Throw open the doors of the city sewers or they'll surely flood the street,
Fill up the glass and let it pass, and whisky drink galore
Since your greatest foe is down below where he'll be seen no more.

When Skin-the-Goad received the note he near went mad with joy,
And the rest of the tramps all thought he had cramps and that he was going to die,
He stood on his heat at the end of the bed and loudly he did roar
"O'Donnell the true, long life to you, may you live for evermore.

All the devils in hell at Carey did yell when he came to the gate,
They made no delays but ran for the keys, he had not long to wait
and when he got in he was stripped to the skin, and tied to an iron post,
A fire was lit and he stuck on a spit and there they left him to roast.