Well, here's a song that at least mentions apple praities—or is it praties? And what the heck is a praitie/pratie/praty/praity anyway?

From Irish Song Book, No. 1 (New York: Wehman Bros., 1909), page 124:


THE LADS WHO LIVE IN IRELAND.

1. My name is Ned O'Manney. I was born in sweet Killarney.
I can fight, dance or sing. I can plow, reap or mow;
And if I met a pretty girl, I never practise blarney.
I've something more alluring, which perhaps you'd like to know.
I'm none of your bulgrudderies nor other shabby families,
But can unto my pedigree a pretty title show.
Oh! I'm of the O's and the Mac's, and likewise the sturdy Whacks,
That live and toil in Ireland where the apple praties grow,
That live and toil in Ireland where the apple praties grow.

2. I could a deal relate, if I could but trace my pedigree.
My mother was a Hogan, but my father I don't know.
I've ninety-nine relations in a place they call Roscarberry,
And each unto their name has a Mac or an O.
My uncle was a Brallaghan, my aunt she was a Callaghan,
And as to my character, why, I can plainly show:
I'm a rantin', rovin' blade, and I never was afraid,
For I was born in Ireland where the apple praties grow,
For I was born in Ireland where the apple praties grow.

3. May heaven still protect our hospitable country,
Where first I drew my living breath and heard its cocks to crow.
Adieu to its green hills and its lovely bay of Banty,
Where many a pleasant evening my love and I did go;
Where shoals of fish so pleasantly did sport about so merrily,
Beneath its glassy surface their wanton tricks to play.
Oh! those scenes I did enjoy, like a gay, unthinking boy,
With the lads who live in Ireland where the apple praties grow,
With the lads who live in Ireland where the apple praties grow.

4. Saint Patrick was our saint, and a blessed man, in truth, was he.
Great gifts unto our country he freely did bestow.
He banished all the frogs and toads that sheltered in our country,
And unto other regions it's they were forced to go.
There is one fact, undoubtedly, that cannot contradicted be,
For trace the Irish history and it will plainly show;
Search the universe all 'round, tighter fellows can be found
Than the lads who live in Ireland where the apple praties grow,
Than the lads who live in Ireland where the apple praties grow.