And when yer quit from care yourself and get to Kingdom Come,
It's no use teaching you the Harp- you'll play the Orange Drum!
Och! man you wor a fighter, of that I had no doubt,
For I seen ye once in Belfast when the Antrim Road was out!
And many a time that evenin' I thought that you were dead,
The way them Papish pavin' stones was hoppin' of yer head.
Oh! if your that Francis Farrelly that came from North Tyrone-
Here's lookin' to ye Francis but leave the Pope alone!.

East

Or were you the Francis Farrelly that in my College days
For strolling on the Kingstown Pier had such a curious craze?
D'ye mind them lovely sisters- the blonde and the brunette?
I know I've not forgotten, and I don't think you forget!
That picnic at the Dargle- And the other at the Scalp-
How my heart was palpitatin'- hers wasn't- not a palp!
Someone said ye married money- and maybe ye were wise,
But the gold you loved was in her hair, and the diamonds in her eyes!
So I liked to think ye married her and that you're with her yet,
'Twas some 'meleesha' officer that married the brunette:
But the blonde one always loved ye, and I knew ye loved her too,
So me blessing on ye Francis and the blue sky over you!.

Sorry about the wee mishap don't know what happened there, any way Fiolar its all there warts and all. Ard Mhacha.