My Son Tim versuri

My Son Tim lyrics by Frank Harte

Verse 1
Ah, my son Tim was a bosun’s mate
He could blow the whistle but he never ran a rate
When the thoughts of his mother came into his head
You couldn’t understand one word he said
With your too-ri-ra, whack fol-the-da
Whack fol-the-doodle, fol-the-di-dum

Verse 2
Well, up comes Tim without any legs
And in their place he had two wooden pegs
Well, was it the walking across the sea
Wore your two fine legs from the knees away?
With your too-ri-ra, whack fol-the-da
Whack fol-the-doodle, fol-the-di-dum

Verse 3
„Oh, were you drunk or were you blind
When you left your two fine legs behind?
How come Mahone, that you were a silly youth
Not to run away from the Frenchman’s shoot?”
With your too-ri-ra, whack fol-the-da
Whack fol-the-doodle, fol-the-di-dum

Verse 4
I was neither drunk nor neither blind
When I left my two fine legs behind
When up came a bloody great cannonball
Shot away me sea-boots, oilskins and all
With your too-ri-ra, whack fol-the-da
Whack fol-the-doodle, fol-the-di-dum

Verse 5
„Ah, Tim, me boy,” his mother cried
„Them two fine legs were your mammy’s pride
Them stumps of a tree wouldn’t do at all
You’d a right to run away from the big cannonball”
With your too-ri-ra, whack fol-the-da
Whack fol-the-doodle, fol-the-di-dum

Verse 6
But now I’ll cross the raging main
To Napoleon Bonaparte and the Queen of Spain
And I’ll make them rue the time
That they shot away the legs of a child of mine
With your too-ri-ra, whack fol-the-da
Whack fol-the-doodle, fol-the-di-dum