I've always heard it like this:
One evening of late
Into Brandon I strayed
And bound for Clonakilty
I was making me way
In an elegant Alehouse
Some time I delayed
For to wet me ould whistle
With porter

I scarcely had travelled
A mile of the road
When I heard a dispute
In a farmers abode
The son of the landlord
An ill-lookin' toad
And the wife of the bould tenant farmer

Hurrah for the bould tenant's wife she replied
You're as bad as your Daddy
On the other side
But the national landleague
Will put down your pride
For they're able to bear every storm

I spit in me fist
And I picked up me stick
And up the coach road
Like a deer I did trip
I care not for baillif, landlord or ould Nick
And I sang like the lark
In the morning