It is just about a year ago that I went to see the King,
And on my voyage in Ulster my troubles they were twin;
He decorated me with medals, and they were made of tin,
"Go home," says he, "you kittery. You're the Mayor of Magheralin.


Oh! It is a grand old city in the good old ancient style,
A credit to old Co. Down and the pride of Erin's Isle;
It has an excellent harbour where the breadcarts all sail in,
And when you visit Ireland you will come to Magheralin.

My father he's a tinker and he works among the tin,
My mother she's a weaver and she comes shuttling in;
My brother he's a ploughboy and he ploughs the raging main,
And we all were educated in the town of Magheralin.

The king he came to Ireland and he sailed across the Boyne,
He brought with him a ton of wax and ninety balls of twine,
And then he gave an order for the cobblers to begin
To make ten thousand pairs of clogs for the ducks of Magheralin.

You've heard about Napoleon, Napoleon Bonaparte,
He conquered all of Europe in nearly every art;
He thought he'd conquer Ireland, but he never could get in,
For he died in St. Helena when he thought of Magheralin.