Och! Piggy dear, an' did ye hear
The thraitors what they say?
The rint is due, an' oh! 'tis you,
Me darlin', that's to pay.
So you, whose squale is music rale
To me--the rascals hint
That you must doi, an' plaise, for whoy?--
The landlord wants his rint!
But no, me jew'l! Oi'm not so cru'l,
To kill an' murther dead
The chum that's ate out ov me plate,
An' shared the fam'ly bed.
Oi would be loike a fool to stroike
A frind to plaise a foe--
If one must doi, why then, says Oi,
The landlord, he must go.
* * * * *