Humpty Dumpty

(альбом: At Home With The Dubliners - 1969)

James Joyce is renown for written some very
Very complicated material
Surprisingly he wrote the next song, which is very simple

Have you heard o' one Humpty Dumpty?
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
Crawled up like lord Oliver Crumble
As the butt of the magazine wall
The magazine wall, hump helmet and all
He was one time our king of our castle
Now he's kicked about like a rotten old parsnip
And from Green Street he'll be sent
By order of his worship
To the penal jail of Mount Joy
To the jail of Mount Joy, jail him with joy
He was for father of all things for to bother us
Slow coaches and the immaculate contraceptives for the Populous
Mare's milk for the sick
Seven dry Sunday's a week
Open air love and religious reform
Religious reforms, so hideous in form
And o' why says you couldn't he manage it
I'll go bail me fine dearie mount darling
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidy's
All his butter's in his horns
His butter's in his horns, butter his horns
Sweet Bad luck to the waves washed to old Ireland
The hooker of the hammer fast Viking
And gold's cursing the day that at Blanna bay
Saw his black and tan men a war
Saw his black and tan men a war, at the Harber bar
He was joulting by Wellington's monument
O' a retorious hippo' po potomus
When some bugger let down the back strap at the omnibus
And he cut his death of fusiliers
With his rent in his rears, give em six years
Oh we'll have a free trade gaels band and mass meeting
For to sod that brave son of Scandinavery
And we'll bury him down in Oxmond's Town
Along with the devil and Dane's
The death and dumb Dane's, and all their remains
Now all the Kings men not his horses
Could never resurrect his corpses
For there's no true spell, in Connaught or hell
That's able to raise a cane