MICK McGILLIGAN'S DAUGHTER
(Louis A Tierney)

1. I'm a gallant Irishman.
I've a daughter Mary Anne.
She's the sweetest, neatest, colleen in the Isle.
Though she can't now purchase satin,
She's a wonder at bog latin
In a fluent, fascinatin' sort of style.
When she's sellin' fruit or fish,
Sure, it is her fondest wish
For to capture with her charm some handsome man.
Ah! no matter where she goes,
Sure, everybody knows
That she's Mick McGilligan's daughter Mary Anne.

CHORUS: She's a darlin', she's a daisy,
And she's set the city crazy,
Though in build, and talk, and manner, like a man.
When me precious love draws near,
You can hear the people cheer
For Mick McGilligan's daughter Mary Anne.

2. She's so frolicsome and hearty
She's the life of every party.
She's invited to the hoolies, wan and all,
For her big explosive laugh
Would cheer up a sick giraffe.
Och! a noble heart is b'aten 'neath her shawl.
Sure 'tis aisy to be seen
That she is no beauty queen,
And her double chin is steam-rolled every day;
And her eyebrows they are shifted,
And her face is being lifted,
Though who is goin' to lift it, I can't say. CHORUS

3. The concertina she can play
In a captivatin' way,
And wan single semiquaver never misses.
Arrah! while you'd reckon four,
They'd be dancin' on the floor
Tangos, polkas, waltzes, wan-steps, and schottisches.
Middle notes play with her nose,
Tappin' time with her big toes,
While the company admire her figure vast.
Them musicianers mad jealous
Sure they're long haired dreamy fellows
And they know me daughter's tone is unsurpassed. CHORUS

4. She has fine peroxide thresses
And some gorgeous wan-piece dresses.
She can use her feet delightful in a dance.
Any reel or rink-a-fawder
Doesn't cause her any bother,
Or them foreign tarantellas straight from France.
Like a wartime armoured sloop,
She gives wan terrific whoop
And comes sailin' through the room, accordin' to plan.
Then yeh'll hear the M.C. shout:
"Gents and ladies, please look out!
Here's Mick McGilligan's daughter Mary Anne." CHORUS

5. At elocution she is great.
Sure "The Abbey" and "The Gate"
They were clamourin' for to have her on the stage,
But me daughter's so refined
All their offers she declined,
And the managers all are in a towerin' rage.
At Hollywood, likewise,
All them film-actin' guys
Are rampageous to get Mary Anne to stay,
But she won't leave lover Jim
'Cos she idolises him
And it's comin' soon, me daughter's weddin' day. CHORUS

6. Mary Anne has got a voice
That would make a lark rejoice:
A glorious high sultana, clear and strong.
Thrush and linnet stop their singin'
When me daughter is beginnin',
For they know that somethin', somewhere, has gone wrong.
Her low notes as loud as thunder
Nearly tear your brain asunder.
They go whistlin' through the air like twelve-inch shells.
Sure no depth charge, bomb, or blitz
Can be said to equal this,
For the atmosphere is filled with shrieks and yells. CHORUS

7. Tho' she's nearin' twenty stone,
She a charm just all her own.
She's as graceful as a hippypotamus.
On her broad expansive face
Smiles of welcome we can trace
When she scrutinises every one of us.
We've a hooley every year
When her birthday's dhrawin' near,
But achone! mavrone! a pain is in me heart;
For I'm goin' to lose me daughter
For another wan has bought her
And I know with Mary Anne I have to part. CHORUS

8. Her finance's name is Jim.
He is wiry, tall, an' slim.
He tarries at the milk bar all day long,
But me cushla dove delights
In his many glorious fights.
Every single man for miles has heard the gong.
Tho' not massive or not bold,
He is feared be young and old.
Nature built him on a most original plan.
Only wan alone he fears,
And he hastily disappears
When he sees me little baby, Mary Anne. CHORUS

9. Ach! the weddin' is tomorrow,
And a suit I've got to borrow.
I must have me father's watch and chain as well;
And on Michael's Hill I'll get
A tall hat and tie, you bet,
And a pair of spats to make me quite a swell.
Then I'll give me daughter Anne
To the care of her good man
While I'm dhrownded in confetti and in rice,
And at the breakfast after,
We'll have song, and dance and laughter
And a gross or two of stout ought to suffice. CHORUS

ALTERNATIVE CHORUS:
She's me darlin'. She's me daisy.
She damn near drives me crazy.
She's got hairs upon her chest like any man;
And you know she's on the rocks
When she's wearin' cotton socks,
Mick McGilligan's daughter, Mary Anne.