Here's how Willy Brady used to sing it:

There's a man by the name of Mike Hogan,
And he's plaguing me out of me life,
Now he has a big daughter named Brigid,
And he wants me to make her me wife.
She stands six foot four in her stockings,
Sure herself of meself would make three,
And whenever I stand up beside her,
Sure, me elbow just touches her knee.

Ah now, Patsy McCann, will you marry me daughter?
Patsy McCann, she's the girl you should wed,
Ten golden sovereigns down I will give you,
A three-legged stool and a fine feather bed.
Saint Peter, Saint Paul, and Saint Patrick,
All the pictures that hang on the wall,
Sure I'll throw them all into the bargain,
If you'll marry me daughter at all.

I married his big Brigid Hogan,
And she's mine now for better or worse.
Ah but the blessings that she should have brought me,
Sure I think they've turned into a curse!
For she beats and she nags and she flays me,
And she ties me lest I run away,
Sure this six-foot-four beauty's a caution,
And her father was worse for to say:

Come on now, Patsy McCann, will you marry me daughter?
Patsy McCann, she's the girl you should wed,
Ten golden sovereigns down I will give you,
A three-legged stool and a fine feather bed.
Saint Peter, Saint Paul, and Saint Patrick,
All the pictures that hang on the wall,
Sure I'll throw them all into the bargain,
If you'll marry me daughter at all.

Some minor differences to the above versions here, but basically the same song - very typical for folksongs. Monika