Into the pub hobbled Terry O’ Toole
On crutches and bandaged and patched
“Wot ‘appened t’ ye?” asked Paddy, th’ keep,
“You look like ye’ve been overmatched.”
“Twas me n’ Mike Finnigan, we had us a fight
As you kin see, I come out second best”
Paddy amazed, said, “That little twit,
He couldna done all thot t’ you man,
He’s scrawny and weak, has not enough cheek
He musta had help in iz hand.”
“Aye, that he did, twas a chair leg it twere
The lickin’ ‘e gayve me be damn’d
Paddy replied, “Shoulda’ dayfended yerself.
Did ye not ‘ave a thing in yer hand?”
Terry replied, Aye, that I did.”
With a faraway look of delight.
“Of great beauty it twere,
Twas Miz Finnigan’s breast,
But not of much use in a fight