I think of it yet, I can never forget,
    The evening we went in a hurry
With the boys of the Toer off the famed Boher Moar,
    For to borrow the drum from Tim Murray;
One side it was cracked, for it was badly whacked
By a giant from the quarry named Clery,
But we dressed it in green, and the rent wasn't seen
    As we followed the wren in Tipp'rary.

With ribbons and bows, sight to banish the crews,
    We came back to the Cross in a body,
Though it was Christmas night, and the moon high and bright,
    Yet we scared long Ned Gleesen, called Neddie,
He rose up with a yell, roared out, "demons from hell,"
    Till Tom Finn, that young impudent fairy,
Cried, "Come back, come areen, rehearsal we're doin'
    For to follow the wren in Tipp'rary."

Down the street with a bound, our feet scarce  touched the ground
    And into Bill Dunne, the old sinner,
Who sat there at his ease, faith; as grand as you please,
    And he carving a goose for his dinner.
We sleped up to his chair, began brushing his hair,
    Till we made him quite cross and contrairy,
When McGrath, getting loose, made a swipe at the goose
    And she followed the wren in Tipp'rary.

Next morn was wet, and a sigh of regret
    Broke up from our hearts, for, before us
Old grim Sliav-na-mon, with his nightcap still on,
    And a message of sadness it bore us.
But a whack of the drum, and a small drop of rum
    Made our spirits and hearts light and airy,
To the Gap of Kilcash we went through in a dash
    As we followed the wren in Tipp'rary.

And oh! what a sight! coming back in the night,
    As we lifted a grand ringing chorus,
Our green ribbons kissed in the soft silver mist,
    And the moon's gentle beams shinning o'er us.
I think of it yet, with a sigh of regret,
    When each light-hearted Nell, Kate, and Mary
Came out for a reel, or a jig, - it may be,
    As we followed the wren of Tipp'rary.

Oh! where are the boys that once tasted youth's joys
    With me in the bright days now over;
Alas! some are laid in the churchyard's dark shade,
    While some lead the life of the rover,
O'er the ocean's grey foam, far from kindred and home,
    By each virgin forest and prairie,
Changed are the days, aye, and strange are the ways
    Since we followed the wren in Tipp'rary.

Transcribed on June 24, 2000 by T. M. Carlsen
Notes from transcriber: spelling, punctuation and indentation
as in original.  Original hard to read.
A number is handwritten in upper right corner
which is hard to make out, appears to be 237.