There's Whisky In The Jar
As I was a-crossin' the Abercrombie Mountains,
I met Sir Frederick Pottinger, and his money he was countin'.
I first drew me blunderbuss and then I drew me sabre
Sayin', "Stand and deliver-oh! for I'm your bold decayver."
chorus: With my mush-a-ring-a-dah,
Ri-tooral-addy-ah,
There's whisky in the jar!
I robbed him of his money; it was a pretty penny,
I robbed him of it all and took it home to Molly;
I took it home to Molly and I thought she'd ne'er deceive me,
Oh! the divil's in the wimmin for they never can be aisy
. . . . . . . . . all but the last two lines lost to time. . . . . . .
She fired off my pistols and damaged them with water -
Oh! the divil's in the wimmin for rearin' such a daughter."
poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Whisky In The Jar
As I was goin' over the Cork and Kerry mountains
I saw Captain Farrell and his money he was countin'
I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier
I said stand o'er and deliver or the devil he may take ya
Musha ring dum a doo dum a da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o
I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny
I took all of his money and I brought it home to Molly
She swore that she'd love me, never would she leave me
But the devil take that woman for you know she tricked me easy
Musha ring dum a doo dum a da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o
Being drunk and weary I went to Molly's chamber
Takin' my money with me and I never knew the danger
For about six or maybe seven in walked Captain Farrell
I jumped up, fired off my pistols and I shot him with both barrels
Musha ring dum a doo dum a da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o
Now some men like the fishin' and some men like the fowlin'
And some men like ta hear a cannon ball a roarin'
Me I like sleepin' specially in my Molly's chamber
But here I am in prison, here I am with a ball and chain yeah
Musha ring dum a doo dum a da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o
And i got drunk on whiskey-o
And I love, i love, i love, i love, i love, i love my molly-o
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Policeman G.
To Policeman G. the Inspector said:
"When you pass the 'shops' you must turn your head;
If you took a wager, that would be a sin;
So you'll earn no stripes if you run them in."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
To the House Committee, the Inspector said:
"'Tis a terrible thing how the gamblers spread,
For they bet on the steeple, and they bet on the Cup,
And the magistrates won't lock them up."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
But Policeman G., as he walks his beat,
Where ghe gamblers are -- up and down the street --
Says he: "What's the use to be talkin' rot --
If they'd make me a sergeant, I could cop the lot!"
With my ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
"But, begad if you start to suppress the 'shop',
Then the divil only knows where you're going to stop;
For the rich and the poor, they would raise a din,
If at Randwick I ran fifty thousand in."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
"Though ye must not box -- nor shpit -- nor bet,
I'll find my way out to Randwick yet;
For I'm shtandin' a pound -- and it's no disgrace --
On Paddy Nolan's horse -- for the Steeplechase!"
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whiskey In The Jar
As I was goin over the cork and kerry mountains
I saw captain farrell and his money he was countin
I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier
I said stand and deliver or the devil he may take ya
Musha ring dum a doo dum a da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
Theres whiskey in the jar-o
I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny
I took all of his money and I brought it home to molly
She swore that shed love me, never would she leave me
But the devil take that woman for you know she tricked me easy
Being drunk and weary I went to mollys chamber
Takin my money with me and I never knew the danger
For about six or maybe seven in walked captain farrell
I jumped up, fired off my pistols and I shot him with both barrels
Now some men like the fishin and some men like the fowlin
And some men like ta hear a cannon ball a roarin
Me I like sleepin specially in my mollys chamber
But here I am in prison, here I am with a ball and chain yeah
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whiskey In The Jar
(has also been recorded by thin lizzy)
As i was going over the cork and kerry mountains
I saw captain farrell and his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier
I said "stand and deliver or the devil he may take you"
Yeah
I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny
I took all of his money, yeah, and i brought it home to molly
She swore that she loved me, no, never would she leave me
But the devil take that woman, yeah, for you know she tricked me easy
Musha rain dum-a-do-dum-a-da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o
Being drunk and weary i went to molly's chamber
Taking molly with me, but i never knew the danger
For about six or maybe seven, yeah, in walked captain farrell
I jumped up, fired my pistols, and i shot him with both barrels, yeah
Musha rain dum-a-do-dum-a-da, yeah-yeah
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o
Yeah, whiskey
Yo-ooh, whiskey
Yo-ooh, yeah-ee-yeah, ooh
Yo-oo-oo-ooh, yeah
Now some men like the fishing and some men like the fowling
And some men like to hear, to hear the cannonball a-roaring
Me i like sleeping, especially in my molly's chamber
But here i am in prison, here i am with a ball and chain, yeah
Musha rain dum-a-do-dum-a-da, yeah-yeah
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o, yeah
Whiskey in the jar-o, yeah
Musha rain dum-a-do-dum-a-da
Musha rain dum-a-do-dum-a-da, hey
Musha rain dum-a-do-dum-a-da
Musha rain dum-a-do-dum-a-da, yeah
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Friend, The Parking Lot Attendant
—he's a dandy
—small moustache
—usually sucking on a cigar
he tends to lean into cars as he
transacts business
first time I met him, he said,
"hey! ya gonna make a
killin'?"
"maybe," I answered.
next meeting it was:
"hey, Ramrod! what's
happening?"
"very little," I told
him.
next time I had my girlfriend with me
and he just
grinned.
next time I was
alone.
"hey," he asked, "where's the young
chick?"
"I left her at home...."
"Bullshit! I'll bet she dumped
you!"
and the next time
he really leaned into the car:
"what's a guy like you doing driving a
BMW! I'll bet you inherited your
money, you didn't get this car with your
brains!"
"how'd you guess?" I
answered.
that was some weeks ago.
I haven't seen him lately.
feIlow like that, chances are he just moved on
to better
things.
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Golden Moon
The money is the Planet’s Wheel.
Into the mud the money binds the human’s Will. The money is Survival's drill.
The money diggs in our heart relations dirt, or Separation, which is "emotion's bill." The money is the dust.
With money covered our Life and Path. Sometimes, the money serves (in stead of oil) as "Diplomatic honey."
The money gives the Power to sinner and to swami. The money is the NEED.
Without money we are the Soul's zero, "Human's meat" indeed. We wish the money night and day.
The whisper ‘money’ make us forget the smile; blessing of pundit, the pray. The money is the Dream: "The Golden Moon"
Without money we are in Life useless wave: "balloon." Conclusion:
"Without money, I am the sand on Ocean's shore,"
concluded Poem "Golden Moon"- the Poet Lebishor.
poem by Leonid Rotshtein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whiskey In The Jar
I was a-goin over gilgarra mountain
I met with captain farrell, and his money he was countin.
First I drew my pistols and then I drew my rapier,
Sayin stand and deliver, for I am your bold deceiver.
Musha ringum duram da,
Whack fol the daddy-o,
Whack fol the daddy-o,
Theres whiskey in the jar.
He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny;
I put it in my pocket to take home to jenny.
She sighed and swore she loved me and never would deceive me,
But the devil take the women, for they always lie so easy!
Musha ringum duram da
I went into me chamber all for to take a slumber,
To dream of gold and girls, and of course it was no wonder:
Me jenny took me charges and she filled them up with water,
Called on captain farrell to get ready for the slaughter.
Musha ringum duram da
Next mornin early, before I rose for travel,
Up came a band of footmen and likewise captain farrell.
I goes to draw my pistol, for shed stole away my rapier,
But I couldnt shoot for water, so a prisoner I was taken
Musha ringum duram da
They put me into jail with a judge all a-writin:
For robbin colonel farrell on gilgarra mountain.
But they didnt take me fists and I knocked the jailer down
And bid me a farewell to this tight-fisted town.
Musha ringum duram da
Id like to find me brother, the one whos in the army;
I dont know where hes stationed, be it cork or in killarney.
Together wed go roamin oer the mountains of kilkenny,
And I swear hed treat me fairer than my darlin sportin jenny!
Musha ringum duram da
Theres some that takes delight in the carriages and rollin,
Some that takes delight in the hurley or the bollin,
But I takes delight in the juice of the barley,
Courtin pretty maids in the mornin, o so early!
Musha ringum duram da
song performed by by Ronan Keating
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Imitation Of Anacreon
PRONE, on my couch I calmly slept
Against my wont. A little child
Awoke me as he gently crept
And beat my door. A tempest wild
Was raging-dark and cold the night.
"Have pity on my naked plight,"
He begged, "and ope thy door".--"Thy name?"
I asked admitting him.--"The same
"Anon I'll tell, but first must dry
"My weary limbs, then let me try
"My mois'ened bow."--Despite my fear
The hearth I lit, then drew me near
My guest, and chafed his fingers cold.
"Why fear?" I thought. "Let me be bold
"No Polyphemus he; what harm
"In such a child?--Then I'll be calm!"
The playful boy drew out a dart,
Shook his fair locks, and to my heart
His shaft he launch'd.--"Love is my name,"
He thankless cried, "I hither came
"To tame thee. In thine ardent pain
"Of Cupid think and young Climene."--
"Ah! now I know thee, little scamp,
"Ungrateful, cruel boy! Decamp!"
Cupid a saucy caper cut,
Skipped through the door, and as it shut,
"My bow," he taunting cried, "is sound,
"Thy heart, poor comrade, feels the wound."
poem by La Fontaine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only Molly Knows
When the day is done
Oh Molly Molly
Will I be the one
When the day is through
Oh Molly Molly
Will I be with you
Tell me what to do
Oh Molly Molly
Let me follow through
'Cos I am lost at sea
Oh Molly Molly
Haven't got a clue
All I have to show
For all the years below
Only Molly knows
When the lights go down
Oh Molly Molly
Will you be around
When the lights are gone
Oh Molly Molly
Will you leave the town
Tell me what is wrong
Oh Molly Molly
Let me sing a song
'Cos I have lost the will
Oh Molly Molly
Cannot carry on
All I have to show
For all the years below
Only Molly knows
When the day is done
Oh Molly Molly
Will I be the one
When the day is through
Oh Molly Molly
Will I be with you
Tell me what to do
Oh Molly Molly
Let me follow through
Where are we to be tomorrow Molly
Haven't got a clue
All I have to show
For all the years below
Only Molly knows
song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wild Colonial Boy
'Tis of a wild Colonial boy, Jack Doolan was his name,
Of poor but honest parents he was born in Castlemaine.
He was his father's only hope, his mother's only joy,
And dearly did his parents love the wild Colonial boy.
Come, all my hearties, we'll roam the mountains high,
Together we will plunder, together we will die.
We'll wander over valleys, and gallop over plains,
And we'll scorn to live in slavery, bound down with iron chains.
He was scarcely sixteen years of age when he left his father's home,
And through Australia's sunny clime a bushranger did roam.
He robbed those wealthy squatters, their stock he did destroy,
And a terror to Australia was the wild Colonial boy.
In sixty-one this daring youth commenced his wild career,
With a heart that knew no danger, no foeman did he fear.
He stuck up the Beechworth mail coach, and robbed Judge MacEvoy,
Who trembled, and gave up his gold to the wild Colonial boy.
He bade the Judge "Good morning," and told him to beware,
That he'd never rob a hearty chap that acted on the square,
And never to rob a mother of her son and only joy,
Or else you may turn outlaw, like the wild Colonial boy.
One day as he was riding the mountain side along,
A-listening to the little birds, their pleasant laughing song,
Three mounted troopers rode along—Kelly, Davis, and FitzRoy.
They thought that they would capture him—the wild Colonial boy.
"Surrender now, Jack Doolan, you see there's three to one.
Surrender now, Jack Doolan, you daring highwayman."
He drew a pistol from his belt, and shook the little toy.
"I'll fight, but not surrender," said the wild Colonial boy.
He fired at Trooper Kelly, and brought him to the ground,
And in return from Davis received a mortal wound.
All shattered through the jaws he lay still firing at FitzRoy,
And that's the way they captured him—the wild Colonial boy.
It will be noticed that the same chorus is sung to both
"The Wild Colonial Boy" and "Bold Jack Donahoo."
Several versions of both songs were sent in, but the same
chorus was always made to do duty for both songs.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Man Who Was Away
The widow sought the lawyer's room with children three in tow,
She told the lawyer man her tale in tones of deepest woe.
She said, "My husband took to drink for pains in his inside,
And never drew a sober breath from then until he died.
"He never drew a sober breath, he died without a will,
And I must sell the bit of land the childer's mouth to fill.
There's some is grown and gone away, but some is childer yet,
And times is very bad indeed -- a livin's hard to get.
"There's Min and Sis and little Chris, they stops at home with me,
And Sal has married Greenhide Bill that breaks for Bidgeree.
And Fred is drovin' Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh
And Charley's shearin' down the Bland, and Peter is away."
The lawyer wrote the details down in ink of legal blue --
"There's Minnie, Susan, Christopher, they stop at home with you;
There's Sarah, Frederick and Charles, I'll write to them today,
But what about the other son -- the one who is away?
"You'll have to furnish his consent to sell the bit of land."
The widow shuffled in her seat, "Oh, don't you understand?
I thought a lawyer ought to know -- I don't know what to say --
You'll have to do without him, boss, for Peter is away."
But here the little boy spoke up -- said he, "We thought you knew;
He's done six months in Goulburn gaol -- he's got six more to do."
Thus in one comprehensive flash he made it clear as day,
The mystery of Peter's life -- the man who was away.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Swinging the Lead
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "I've got noises in me head
And a kind o' filled up feeling after every time I'm fed;
I can sleep all night on picket, but I can't sleep in my bed".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "Do you think they'll send me back?
For I really ain't adapted to be carrying a pack
Though I've humped a case of whisky half a mile upon my back".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
"And my legs have swelled up cruel, I can hardly walk at all,
Bur when the Taubes come over you should see me start to crawl;
When we're sprinting for the dugout, I can easy beat 'em all".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
So they sent him to the trenches where he landed safe and sound,
And he drew his ammunition, just about two fifty round:
"Oh Sergeant, what's this heavy stuff I've got to hump around?"
And the Sergeant said,
"That's Lead!"
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Intimacy
I hear people say, "I love my iPhone, "
Or, "I love drinking a Starbucks coffee."
Sometimes: "I love my Versace cologne, "
And also: "I love having this money."
I hear people say, "I love my Walmart, "
Or, "I love the drive-thru at Taco Bell."
"I love my TV. It's state of the art."
"I love the shoes that Nike has to sell."
I hear this: "I love American Idol, "
And, "I love a nice, cold Budweiser."
"I love medicines such as Demerol."
And, "I love my internet provider."
Yet, one thing I don't hear is, "I love you."
Saying that is too intimate to do.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Little Big Man
I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am
as old as my father is.
My teacher will come and say, "It is late, bring your slate
and your books."
I shall tell him, " Do you not know I am as big as father? And
I must not have lessons any more."
My master will wonder and say, "He can leave his books if he
likes, for he is grown up."
I shall dress myself and walk to the fair where the crowd is
thick.
My uncle will come rushing up to me and say, "You will get
lost, my boy; let me carry you."
I shall answer, "Can't you see, uncle, I am as big as father?
I must go to the fair alone."
Uncle will say, "Yes, he can go wherever he likes, for he is
grown up."
Mother will come from her bath when I am giving money to my
nurse, for I shall know how to open the box with my key.
Mother will say, "What are you about, naughty child?"
I shall tell her, "Mother, don't you know, I am as big as
father, and I must give silver to my nurse."
Mother will say to herself, "He can give money to whom he
likes, for he is grown up."
In the holiday time in October father will come home and,
thinking that I am still a baby, will bring for me from the town
little shoes and small silken frocks.
I shall say, "Father, give them to my data, for I am as big
as you are."
Father will think and say, "He can buy his own clothes if he
likes, for he is grown up."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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What is—
215
What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—
Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—
You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Guile of Dad M'Ginnis
When M,Ginnis struck the mining camp at Jamberoora Creek
His behaviour was appreciated highly;
For, although he was a quiet man, in manner mild and meek,
Not like ordinary swagmen with a monumental cheek,
He became the admiration of the camp along the creek
'Cause he showed a point to Kangaroobie Riley!
Both the pubs at Jamberoora had some grog that stood the test
(Not to speak of what was manufactured slyly!)
And the hostel of O'Gorman, which was called The Diggers' Rest,
Was, O'Gorman said, the finest house of any in the west;
But it was a burning question if it really was the best,
Or the "Miners" - kept by Kangaroobie Riley.
Dad M'Ginnis called at Riley's. Said he "felt a trifle queer",
And with something like a wan and weary smile, he
Said he "thought he'd try a whisky". Pushed it back and said, "I fear
I had better take a brandy." Passed that back and said: "Look here,
Take the brandy; after all, I think I'll have a pint of beer!"
And he drank the health of Kangaroobie Riley!
"Where's the money?" asked the publican; "you'll have to pay, begad!"
"Gave the brandy for the beer!" said Dad the wily,
"And I handed you the whisky when I took the brandy, lad!"
"But you paid not for the whisky!" answered Riley. "No," said Dad,
"And you don't expect a man to pay for what he never had!"
- 'Twas the logic flattened Kangaroobie Riley!
"See," said Kangaroobie Riley, "you have had me, that is clear!
But I never mind a joke," he added, dryly.
"Just you work it on O'Gorman, and I'll shout another beer."
"I'd be happy to oblige yer," said McGinnis with a leer,
"But the fact about the matter is - O'Gorman sent me here! -
So, good morning, Mr Kangaroobie Riley!"
poem by William Thomas Goodge
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The Ballad of Justifiable Homicide
They brought to me his mangled corpse
And I feared lest I should swing.
"O tell me, tell me,--and make it brief--
Why hast thou done this thing?
"Had this man robbed the starving poor
Or lived a gunman's life,
Had he set fire to cottages,
Or run off with thy wife?"
"He hath not robbed the starving poor
Or lived a gunman's life;
He hath set fire to no cottage,
Nor run off with my wife.
"Ye ask me such a question that
It now my lips unlocks:
I learned he was the man who planned
The second balcony box."
The jury pondered never an hour,
They thought not even a little,
But handed in unanimously
A verdict of acquittal.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Couple Sharing a Peach
It's not the first time
we've bitten into a peach.
But now at the same time
it splits--half for each.
Our "then" is inside its "now,"
its halved pit unfleshed--
what was refreshed.
Two happinesses unfold
from one joy, folioed.
In a hotel room
our moment lies
with its ode inside,
a red tinge,
with a hinge.
poem by Molly Peacock
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