| Its of an Irishman I’m going to tell you
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| Free from Ireland sailed away
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| Where he was to he was not contended
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| Made up his mind for to go away
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| Early next morning the ship was sailing
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| Queenstown harbour, golden core
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| Eight long days he was sailing over
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| Till he landed in New York
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| Up the street young Paddy wandered
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| Each big building caught his eye
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| Looking up at a big shop window,
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| A bottle of whisky he did spy
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| Into the bar young Paddy entered
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| Called for a drink, without delay
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| Give me a drop of that Irish Whisky,
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| Four big coppers I will pay
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| The landlord he jumped over the counter
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| Pay me down that bill, he said
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| Paddy up with a big shillelagh
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| Laid him on the floor right dead
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| So the Yankees they came running
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| When they heard about the row
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| Trying to kill poor Irish Paddy,
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| Shouting out, Where is he now?!
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| Irishmen they followed after
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| Following without delay
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| Each of them with a big shillelagh,
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| Made the Yankees run away
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| May God’s success to his Irish people
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| Many’s the country they have roamed
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| But their courage is far bolder
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| When they’re far away from home |