Och love is the soul of a nate Irish man

He loves all that's lovely, loves all that he can,

With his sprig of Shillelah and Shamrock so green

With his sprig of Shillelah and Shamrock so green,

His heart is good humour'd, 'tis honest and sound,

No malice or hatred is there to be found;

He courts and he marries, he drinks and he fights,

For love, all for love, for in that he delights,

With his sprig of Shillelah, and Shamrock so green,

With his sprig of Shillelah and Shamrock so green.

 

Who e'er had the Juck to see Donnybrook fair,

An Irishman all in his glory was there,

With his sprig of Shillelah, and Shamrock so green,

With his sprig of Shillelah, and Shamrock so green.

His clothes, spick and span, new without e'er a speck,

A neat Barcelona tied round his nice neck,

He goes to a tent, and he spends half a crown,

He meets with a friend, and for love knocks him down,

With his sprig of Shillelah, and Shamrock so green,

With his sprig of Shillelah, and Shamrock so green.

 

At evening returning, as homeward he goes,

His heart soft with whiskey, his head soft with blows,

From a sprig of Shillelah, and Shamrock so green

From a sprig of Shillelah, and Shamrock so green.

He meets with his Shelah, who blushing a smile,

Cries "Get ye gone Pat" yet consents all the while,

To the Priest soon they go, and eine months after that

A fine baby cries "How do you do father Pat"

With your sprig of Shillelah, and Shamrock so green

With your sprig of Shillelah, and Shamrock so green.

 

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