Lanty Fegan's Breeches
Air: "Dr Phibbs's  Kitchen"

Last Donnybrook Fair day,
I started from Stillorgan, 
And called in on my way,
For my cousin Peggy Morgan.
My frieze was on the mend,
By sundry bits and stitches,
And for the Brook I got a lend,
Of Lanty Fegan's breeches.

When to the Fair we'd come,
The scanty tents surprised me,
Neither bag-pipe, fiddle, nor drum,
Could musicify or rise me.
"Oh, Peggy my jewel," says I,
"The brook is dying by inches,
When Fegan caught my eye,
Examining the breeches.

He gripped me like a vice,
And swore by his 'ternal mort
That we shoudn't leave his sight,
'Till we'd have a glass of cordial;
We drank from hand to fist---
We were gaping just like fishes,
Till I fell, for my seat I missed,
On the seat of Lanty's breeches.

The place where I chanced to roll,
Turned out most unlucky,
I got up, and found the whole
Of the breeches wet and mucky.
Lanty gave a yell,
'Twas the mother of all screeches,
Your sowl to merry h--ll.
Why don't you respect my breeches.

Ooh murder! how I blushed;
To hear how he exposed me---
Across the seat he rushed,
The spalpeen thought to close me.
The Humours of the Brook,
For ever will bewitch us
As thousands came to look,
At Fegan's dirty breeches.

Look before you leap,
Is an old, but useful adage,
For going back, I stepp'd
In a pot of boiling cabbage!
With the scald I made a boult,
And upset jugs, plates, and dishes,
'Till the landlord's dog laid hold,
On the gable of the breeches.

The way he pulled and hauled,
To me was most fatiguing;
But to prevent the sport being spoiled,
The mob all joined with Fegan.
Thro' skillets, tubs, and crocks,
They steel'd me to the "Kishes,"
Where they gave me a pair of ducks,
For soiling Fegan's breeches.

They pelted me with stones,
'Till I was forced to scamper,
When Peggy Morgan's moans,
Gave me another damper.
I got home dripping wet,
And I'm full of pains and stitches;
But I've comfort when I fret,
Cursing Fegan and his breeches.