Darling Old Stick


My name is bold Morgan McCarthy from Trim
My relations all died except one brother Jim
He is gone a-sojering out to Cow Bull
I dare say he’s laid low with a kick in the skull
But let him be dead or be living
A prayer for his corpse I’ll be giving
To send him soon home or to heaven
For he left me his darling stick

If that stick had a tongue, it could tell you some tales
How it battered the countenances of the O’Neil’s
It made bits of skull fly about in the air
And it’s been the promoter of fun at each fair
For I swear by the toe-nail of Moses
It has often broke bridges of noses
Of the faction that dared to oppose us
It’s the darling kippeen of a stick

The last time I used it ‘twas on Patrick’s Day
Larry Fagan and I got into a shilley
We went on a spree to the fair of Athboy
Where I danced, and when done, I kissed Kate McEvoy
Then her sweetheart went out for his cousin
And by Jabers, he brought in a dozen
A doldhrum they would have knocked us in
It I hadn’t the taste of a stick

War was the word when the factions came in
And to pummel us well, they peeled off their skin
Like a Hercules there, I stood for the attack
And the first that came up, I sent on his back
Then I shoved out the eye of Pat Clancy
For he once humbugged sister Nancy
In the meantime poor Kate took a fancy
To myself and me bit of a stick

I smathered her sweetheart until he was black
She then tipped me the wink, we were off in a crack
We went to a house t’other end of the town
And we cheered up our spirits by letting some down
When I got her snug into a corner
And the whiskey beginning to warm her
She told me her sweetheart was an informer
Oh, ‘twas then I said prayers for my stick

We got whiskificated to such a degree
For support my poor Kate had to lean against me
I promised to see her safe to her abode
By the tarnal, we fell clean in the mud on the road.
We were roused by the magistrate’s order
Before we could get a toe further
Surrounded by peelers for murder
Was myself and my innocent stick

When the trial came on, Kate swore to the fact
That before I set to, I was decently whacked
And the Judge had a little more feeling than sense
He said what I done was in my defence
But one chap swore again me, named Carey
Though that night he was in Tipperary
He’d swear a coal porter was a canary
To transport myself and my stick

When I was acquitted, I leaped from the dock
And the gay fellows all round me did flock
I’d a pain in my shoulder, I shook hands so often
For the boys all imagined I’d see my own coffin.
I went and bought a gold ring, sir
And Kate to the priest, I did bring, sir
So next night you come, I will sing, sir
The adventure of my and my stick


Song Clip