There's a man by the name of Mike Hogan Who's plague-in' me out of me life, He has a big daughter named Brigit And he wants me to make her me wife. She stands six foot four in her stockings Her waist of me-self would make three And whenever I'm standing beside her Me elbows just reach to her knees. |
Well I married that big Brigit Hogan And she's mine now for better or worse, But the blessing that she should have brought me Would appear to have changed a curse. She strikes me and bites me and flays me She ties me lest I run away, This six foot four beauty's a caution But her father was worse for to say: - |
Chorus: Patsy McCann will you marry me daughter, Oh! Patsy McCann she's the girl you'll wed; Ten golden sovereigns down I will give you, A three legged stool and a fine feather bed. Saint Peter, Saint Paul and Saint Paterick All the pictures that hang on the wall, I'll throw them all into the bargain, If you'll marry my daughter at all. |
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