The displayed text at the ITMA website, copied above, does not match the audio. No explanation is given. Below is my transcription. I inserted stanza breaks where I thought appropriate based on the tune. Doubtful words are enclosed in brackets. I boldfaced words that are different from the text given above:


THE FREE STATE FARMER
Transcribed from the audio at the above web page.

I am a Free-State farmer; I live in Inishowen.
My farm it’s not so very big, for bank books I have none.
I toil about from day to day; I do the best I can.
I sell my butter and my eggs just like an honest man.

Derry, it’s my market place [and] there I get my meat,
My tea, my sugar, and my eggs, [my] parin’s and pigs’ feet.
The other day, my suit being torn, I went to Derry town,
I left my measure for a suit and the tailor took it down.

He said: “Call back in three weeks’ time, and it then will ready be,”
So I set off another day from the State they say is Free.

The wife and I we talked things o’er trying to find a way
To get out past the custom man no duty for to pay.
The day came round when into town I went to get my clothes.
Says I: “I’ll do those custom men; I’ll do them to the nose.”

When I received my parcel, to the station I set off.
“I’ll throw these old torn rags away and I’ll dress up like a toff.”
I felt a little nervous as I walked down the strand.
I thought the boys were watchin’ me ‘cause I looked a guilty man.

I found an empty carriage for I had to be alone
To smuggle out my suit of clothes to dear old Inishowen.

The train pulled out past Pennyburn; I started to undress.
My coat went through the window, likewise my pants and vest.
When I opened up my parcel, to my horror I did find
The tailor had made some mistake and the pants were left behind.

Now there was I, a picture, struck naked and alone,
Goin’ fifty miles an hour into dear old Inishowen.

The train pulled up at Gallagh Road; a clothesline hung nearby.
A pair of ladies’ bloomers, they quickly caught my eye.
I soon hopped out and I pulled them on; they fitted me to a tee.
Says I to myself: “A plus-four suit just makes a man of me.”

The custom man saluted me; he thought I was a swell,
But the wife, she’d a’most to murder me before I [had] time to tell.
Oh, never again, oh, never again, will I go out alone
To smuggle out a suit of clothes to dear old Inishowen.