Guest
In the sweet country Lim’rick, one cold winter’s night All the turf fires were burning when I first saw the light; And a drunken old midwife went tipsy with joy As she danced round the floor with her slip of a boy, cho: Singing ban-ya-na mo if an-ga-na And the juice of the barley for me. Well when I was a gossoon of eight years old or so With me turf and me primer to school I did go. To a dusty old school house without any door, Where lay the school master blind drunk on the floor, At the le
