THE IRISH BALLAD
(Words & Music by Tom Lehrer) ©1952

About a maid I’ll sing a song
Rickety-tickety-tin
About a maid I’ll sing a song
Who didn’t have her family long
Not only did she do them wrong
She did everyone of them in, them in
She did everyone of them in

One morning in a fit of pique
Rickety-tickety-tin
One morning in a fit of pique
She drowned her father in the creek
The water tasted bad for a week
And we had to make do with gin, with gin
We had to make do with gin

Her mother she could never stand
Rrickety-tickety-tin
Her mother she could never stand
And so a cyanide soup she planned
Her mother died with a spoon in her hand
And her face in a hideous grin, a grin
Her face in a hideous grin

She set her sister’s hair on fire
Rickety-tickety-tin
She set her sister’s hair on fire
And as the smoke and flame rose higher
Danced around the funeral pyre
Playin’ a violin, -olin, Playin’ a violin
She weighted her brother down with stones
Rickety-tickety-tin
She weighted her brother down with stones
And sent him off to Davy Jones
All they ever found were some bones
And occasional pieces of skin, of skin
Occasional pieces of skin

One day when she had nothing to do
Rickety-tickety-tin
One day when she had nothing to do
She cut her baby brother in two
Served him up as an irish stew
and invited the neighbors in, -bors in
Invited the neighbors in

And when at last the police came by
Rickety-tickety-tin
And when at last the police came by
Her little pranks she did not deny
To do so she would have had to lie
And lying, she knew, was a sin, a sin
Lying, she knew, was a sin

My tragic tale, I won’t prolong
Rickety-tickety-tin
My tragic tale I won’t prolong
And if you do not enjoy the song
You’ve yourselves to blame if it’s too long
You should never have let me begin, begin
Have never have let me begin