Alba s touto skladbou:
At Home with The Dubliners,
Lost In Space,
Songs For Boys & Girls,
Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
By the butt of the Magazine Wall
Of the Magazine Wall/Hump, helmet and all?
He was one time our King of the Castle
Now he's kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.
And from Green Street he'll be sent by order of His Worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy
To the jail of Mountjoy!/Jail him and joy.
He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,
Mare's milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion's reform,
And religious reform/Hideous in form.
Arrah, why, says you, couldn't he manage it?
I'll go bail, me fine dairyman darling,
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys
All your butter is in your horns
His butter is in his horns./Butter his horns!
Sweet bad luck on the waves washed to our island
The hooker of the hammerfast viking
And Gall's curse on the day when Eblana bay
Saw his black and tan man-o'-war
Saw his man-o'-war/On the harbour bar.
He was joulting by Wellinton's monument
Our rotorious hipppopopotamuns
When some bugger let down the backtrap of the omnibus
And he caught his death of fusiliers,
With his rent in his rears./Give him six years.
Then we'll have a free trade Gaels' band and mass meeting
For to sod the brave son of Scandiknavery
And we'll bury him down in Oxmanstown
Along with the devil and Danes,
With the deaf and dumb Danes,/And all their remains.
And not all the king's men nor his horses
Will resurrect his corpus
For there's no true spell in Connacht or hell
