The Real Irish Stew.
Bome like herrings red from the ocean,
And some like a bit of pig's fry;
Some like oxtail soup, I've a notion,
While others like a pudding and pie.
For all sorts of stomachs there are danties,
But the best feed between I and you,
Is some mutton with onions andpotatoes,
Made into a real Irish stew.
Then hurrah for an Irish Stew,
That will stick to your belly like glue
The sons of St. Patrick for ever,
And three cheers for a real Irish stew.
They nmy tall of their frog and soup meagre,
Thcir Scotch barley broth, and all that i
But such queer stuff, I could wager,
Would not make a dinner for Pat.
Just watch him in battle so frisky,
He's a match every day there for two,
If ou give him glass of good whiskey,
And a blow out of real Irish stew.
Then hurrah, &e.
In my juvenile days I have feasted
On a nice fogey's haul, upon my troth;
When the mutton and breach I had tasted,
So neatly I'd bottle the broth.
A Nancy Hand or a hot Esther Lacy
Was very good value, 'tis true,
But for taking the wrinkles out easy,
Just tip me a real Irish stew.
Then hurrah, &e.
Then the stew, boys, the stew, boys, for ever,
I'd eat till I'm full to the brim;
May the seed of our potatoes ne'er wither,
Nor the name of old Murphy grow dim.
Iay the onions nor spuds never sever,
Nor the mutton e'er fade from our view
Here's the sons of St. Patrick for ever,
And hurrah for a put full of stcw.
Then hurrah, &e.