Eighty pounds of a pension I have every year
Which makes my old ducky drink whiskey and beer,
The sound of her voice rings out in my ear
Before the daylight in the morning.

Then it's out for the water the kettle to boil,
And when I come back I must nurse the young child,
I wish I was shot on the Banks of the Nile
Before every I met my old plaster.

When the kettle is boiled she then makes the tea,
And I'm stuck in the corner with nothing to say,
Or out in the garden there, working away
Before the daylight in the morning.

To wash up the dishes I'm bound for to hop
While Nell and her gossips are out in the shop
Backbiting the neighbours and tippling a drop
Before the daylight in the morning.

I've travelled through England, through France and through Spain
All through the West Indies and back home again,
At Waterloo wounded I suffered great pain,
But ne'er met the likes of my plaster.

She's a mouth and a lip like a wandering jew,
Not a tooth in her head that is sound, except two,
She's no rag to her back, either black white or blue
That was ever once wet with the water.

I haven't a shoe for to put on my feet,
My trousers are ragged right down from the knees,
I'm ashamed of the neighbours to walk down the street,
Now what do you think of my plaster?

Transcribed on June 26, 2000 by T. M. Carlsen
Notes from transcriber: Punctuation and spelling as in original.

Typed notes at bottom of page:
From Thomas Hehir, Shyan, Kilmhill, Co. CLare who said: "I'm glad to be
able to say I never married so SHE never got the chance!