One morning in March I was diggin` the land
With me brogues on me feet and me spade in me hand
And says I to myself such a pity to see
Such a fine strappin` lad footin` turf round Tralee
Wid me toora na nye
And me toora na nye
Wid me toora na noo ra na
Noo ra na nya
So I buttered me brogues shook hands with me spade
Then I went to the fair like a dashing young blade
When up comes a sergeant he asks me to list
Arra sergeant a gra stick the bob in me fist
And the first thing they gave me it was a red coat
With a white strap of leather to tie round me throat
They gave me a quare thing I asked what was that
And they told me it was a cockade for me hat
The next thing they gave me they called it a gun
With powder and shot and a place for me thumb
Well first it spat fire and then it spat smoke
Lord she gave a great leap that me shoulder near broke
Well the first place they sent me was down by the quay
On board of a warship bound for the Crimea
Three sticks in the middle all rolled round with sheets
Faith she walked on the water without any feet
When at Balaclava we landed quite soon
Both cold wet and hungry we lay on the ground
Next morning for action the bugle did call
And we had a hot breakfast of powder and ball
Well we fought at the Alma likewise Inkermann
And the Russians they whaled us at the Redan
In scaling the wall there myself lost me eye
And a big Russian bullet she ran away with me thigh
Was there we lay bleeding
Stretched on the cold ground
Both heads legs and arms were all scattered around
I thought of me mum and me cleavage were nigh
Sure they`d bury me decent and raise a loud cry
Well a doctor was called
And he soon stanched me blood
And he gave me a fine elegant leg made of wood
They gave me a medal and ten pence a day
Contented with Sheelagh I`ll live on half-pay