With my brogues on my feet and my spade in my hand.

Says I to myself what a pity to see,

Such a fine strapping lad footing turf in Tralee.

CHORUS:

Wid me toora na nya, and me toora na nya,

Wid me toora na noora na noora na nya.

So I buttoned my brogues and shook hands with my spade, And I went to the fair like a dashing young blade, When up comes the sergeant and asks me to 'list, 'Arra, Sergeant, a gra, put the bob in my fist.'

And the first thing they gave me it was a red coat, With a wide strap of leather to tie round my throat, They gave me a quare thing, I asked what was that, And they told me it was a cockade for my hat.

The next thing they gave me, they called it a gun, With powder and shot and a place for my thumb; and first she spit fire and then she spit smoke, Lord, she gave a great lep and my shoulder near broke.

The next place they sent me was down to the sea, On board of a warship bound for the Crime, Three sticks in the middle all rowled round with sheets, Faith, she walked thro' the water without any feet.

We fought at the Alma, likewise Inkermann, But the Russians they whaled us at the Redan, In scaling the walls there myself lost my eye, And a big Russian bullet ran offwith my thigh.

It was there I lay bleeding, stretched on the cold ground, Heads, legs and arms were scattered all around, Says I, if my man or my cleaveens were nigh, They'd bury me decent and raise a loud cry.