I came across that song recently in an old songbook and decided I wanted to add it to my own songbook. Thanks for giving me a reminder. It is an old Newfoundland song written by the late John Burke.

The Killigrew’s Soiree by John Burke

You may talk of Clara Nolan’s ball or anything you choose
But it could not hold a snuffbox to the spree at Kelligrews
If you want your eyeballs straightened just come out next week with me
And you’ll have to wear your glasses at the Kelligrew’s Soiree

There was birch rine, tar twine, cherry wine and turpentine
Jowls and cavalances, ginger beer and tea
Pig’s feet, cat’s meat, dumplings boiled in a sheet
Dandelion and crackies teeth at the Kelligrews Soiree

Oh I borrowed Cluney’s beaver as I squared my yards to sail
And a swallow tail from Hogan that was foxy on the tail
Billie Cuddahie’s old working pants and Patsy Nolan’s shoes
And an old white vest from Fogarty to sport at Kelligrews

There was Dan Milley, Joe Lilly, Tantan and Mrs. Tilley
Dancin’ like a little filly, ‘twould raise your heart to see
Jim Brine, Din Ryan, Flipper Smith and Caroline
I tell you boys we had a time at the Kelligrews Soiree

Oh when I arrived at Betsy Snooks’ that night at half past eight
The place was blocked with carriages stood waiting at the gate
With Cluney’s funnel on my plate the first words Betsy said
Here comes the local preacher with the pulpit on his head

There was Bill Mews, Dan Hughes, Wilson, Wilson, Taft and Teddy Roose
While Bryant he sat in the blues and looking hard at me
Jim Fling, Ton King, and Johnson, champion of the ring
And all the boxers I could bring at the Kelligrews soiree

The Saritoga Lancers first, Miss Betsy kindly said
Sure, I danced with Nancy Cronan and her Granny on the Head
And Hogan danced with Betsy, oh you should have seen his shoes
As he lashed old muskets from the rack that night at Kelligrews

There was boiled guineas, cold guineas, bullocks’ heads and picaninies
And everything to catch the pennies, you’d break your sides to see
Boiled duff, cold duff, apple jam was in a cuff
I tell you boys we had enough at the Kelligrews soiree

Crooked Flavin struck the fiddler and a hand I then took in
You should see George Cluney’s beaver and it flattened to the rim
And Hogan’s coat was like a vest, the tails were gone you see
Oh says I the devil haul ye and your Kelligrews soiree