Manus O'Rioradan, trade union researcher, son of Michael O'Riordan (as in "Don't vote for the Red O'Riordan..) was kind enough to send me some details on this one. His family come from West Cork, where the song is based. IN fact his maternal grandparents were evicted by Bence-Jones, the lanlord referred to in the song.

Manus' version is very similar to Noreen/Ireland's Own version, but with one interesting variant! Here's his version and some of his comments:

Such was the national popularity of the song during the heydey of the Land War in the 1880's that it spread far and wide beyond its West Cork origins. It acquired more locally centred lines such as "You'll have the high road for Dungarvan" in County Waterford and "You'll have the high road for Dungannon" in County Tyrone. It also acquired a different air, and it is that new air which was used in the recordings of the song made by Joe Heaney of Connemara and the Clancy Brothers of Carrick-on-Suir. Clonakilty people, however, always sang the song to the same air as that used for The Limerick Rake. But because it was never recorded to that air you now have some Cork people singing it to the different air later used beyond the borders of Cork.

THE WIFE OF THE BOLD TENANT FARMER

One evening of late as I happened to stray
Bound for Clonakilty from sweet Timoleague,
'Twas at Ballinascarthy some time I delayed;
I wetted my whistle with porter.
I kindled my pipe and I spit on my stick,
I kept the coach road, like a deer I did trip,
I cared for no bailiff, landlord or Old Nick;
I sang like a lark in the morning.

I scarcely had travelled a mile of the road
When I heard a dispute at a farmer's abode
'Twas the son of a landlord; an ill-looking toad,
And the wife of the bold tenant farmer.
He said: "What the devil's come over you all?
Not one penny of rent at each time that I call.
But by next October, I'll settle you all;
For you'll have the high road for your garden."

"You caffler," the bold tenant wife then replied
"You're as bad as your daddy at the other side.
But our National Land League will pull down your pride,
It's able to brave every storm."
"Its branches extend to country and town,
Protecting the tenants, their houses and ground.
I owe you twelve months and I'll give you one pound,
If you'll clear our receipts in the morning."

When she spoke of the Land League, his lips they grew pale,
Saying: "What good have they done, sure they're all stuck in jail?
And the rent that you owe, you must pay the next gale,
And believe me, we'll give you no quarter."
"Your husband I saw in the town just last night,
Drinking and shouting for poor tenants' rights.
But the month of October, we'll put you to flight,
To follow your friends o'er the water."

"If my husband was drinking, well what's that to you?
And sure if he spent it on mountainy dew
I'd sooner he'd spend it nor give it to you
For your wet, mossy land is no bargain."
"We all joined the Land League on last New Year's Day,
And I think in my heart, we were not going astray.
With the whole people with us, we'll carry the sway,
Now marshalling all in good order."

"Here's to Father O'Leary, the pride of our isle,
He's the boy that can title you ruffians in style.
John Dillon and Davitt, rank next in the file,
Take care you don't tread on their corns!"
Then I stepped from the bush where in ambush I lay,
And as he passed by me I heard him to say:
"I wish to my God I was ten miles away,
From the wife of the bold tenant farmer!"

I shouted "Hurrah" and she shouted "Hurroo"
He showed us his back and like lightning he flew.
So: "God save the Land League and Old Ireland too,"
Agus fágaimís siúd mar atá sé!


p.s hope the formatting works!

Regards

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---Jeff (PA)---