Collection of Irish Song Lyrics
Mick McGilligan
I'm a gallant Irishman I've a daughter Mary Anne
She's the sweetest, neatest, colleen in the Isle
Though she can't now purchase satin
She's a wonder at bog latin In a fluent, fascinatin' sort of style
When she's sellin' fruit or fish
Sure, it is her fondest wish
For to capture with her charm some handsome man
Ah! no matter where she goes
Sure, everybody knows
That she's Mick McGilligan's daughter Mary Anne
CHORUS: She's a darlin', she's a daisy
And she's set the city crazy
Though in build, and talk, and manner, like a man
When me precious love draws near
You can hear the people cheer
For Mick McGilligan's daughter Mary Anne
Alternative chorus: She's me darlin', she's me daisy
She damn near drives me crazy
She's got hairs upon her chest like any man
And you know she's on the rocks
When she's wearin' cotton socks
Mick McGilligan's daughter, Mary Ann
She's so frolicsome and hearty
She's the life of every party
She's invited to the hoolies, wan and all
For her big explosive laugh
Would cheer up a sick giraffe
Och! a noble heart is b'aten 'neath her shawl
Sure tis aisy to be seen That she is no beauty queen
And her double chin is steam-rolled every day
And her eyebrows they are shifted
And her face is being lifted
Though who is goin' to lift it, I can't say
The concertina she can play In a captivatin' way
And wan single semi quaver never misses
Arrah! while you'd reckon four
They'd be dancin' on the floor
Tangos, polkas, waltzes, wan-steps, and schottisches
Middle notes play with her nose
Tappin' time with her big toes
While the company admire her figure vast
Them musicianers mad jealous
Sure they're long haired dreamy fellows
And they know me daughter's tone is unsurpassed
She has fine peroxide thresses
And some gorgeous wan-piece dresses
She can use her feet delightful in a dance
Any reel or rink-a-fawder
Doesn't cause her any bother
Or them foreign tarantellas straight from France
Like a wartime armoured sloop
She gives wan terrific whoop
And comes sailin' through the room, accordin' to plan
Then yeh'll hear the M.C. shout '
Gents and ladies please look out
Here's Mick McGilligan's daughter Mary Anne
At elocution she is great
Sure 'The Abbey' and 'The Gate'
They were clamourin' for to have her on the stage
But me daughter's so refined
All their offers she declined
And the managers all are in a towerin' rage
At Hollywood, likewise All them film-actin' guys
Are rampageous to get Mary Anne to stay
But she won't leave lover Jim
'Cos she idolises him
And it's comin' soon, me daughter's weddin' day
Mary Anne has got a voice
That would mark a lark rejoice
A glorious high sultana, clear and strong
Thrush and linnet stop their singin'
When me daughter is beginin'
For they know that somethin', somewhere, has gone wrong
Her low notes as loud as thunder
Nearly tear your brain asunder
They go whistlin' through the air like twelve inch shells
Sure no depth charge, bomb, or blitz
Can be said to equal this
For the atmosphere is filled with shrieks and yells
Tho' she's nearin' twenty stone
She a charm just all her own
She's as graceful as a hippy-pot-a-mus
On her broad expansive face
Smiles of welcome we can trace
When she scurtinises everyone of us
We've a hooley every year
When her birthday's dhrawin' near
But achone! mavrone! a pain is in me heart
For I'm goin' to lose me daughter
For another wan has bought her
And I know with Mary Anne I have to part
Her finance's name is Jim
He is wiry, tall, an' slim
He tarries at the milk bar all day long
But me cushla dove delights In his many glorious fights
Every single man for miles has heard the gong
Tho' not massive or not bold
He is feared be young and old
Nature built him on a most original plan
Only wan alone he fears
And he hastily disappears
When he sees me little baby, Mary Anne
Ach! the weddin' is tomorrow
And a suit I've got to borrow
I must have me father's watch and chain as well
And on Michael's Hill I'll get
A tall hat and tie, you bet
And a pair of spats to make me quite a swell
Then I'll give me daughter Anne
To the care of her good man
While I'm dhrownded in confetti and in rice
And at the breakfast after
We'll have song, and dance and laughter
And a gross or two of stout ought to suffice
