In the town of Ballybay, there was a lassie dwelling. I knew her very well, and her story’s worth a telling. Her father had a still, and he was a good distiller. But when she went on the Drink well the divil wouldn’t fill her. CH: with me ring a ding a dum, ring a ding a daddy o, Ring a ding a dum, whack fol de daddy o she had a wooden leg, it was hollow down the middle. She used to tie a string in it, and play it like a fiddle. She’d fiddle in the hall, fiddle in the alleyway. She didn’t give a damn, she used to fiddle anyway. Chorus She said she wouldn’t dance, unless she had her wellies on. But when she had them on, she’d dance as well as anyone. She wouldn’t go to bed, unless she had her shimmy on. But when she has it on, she’d go to bed with everyone. Chorus She had lovers by the score, every Tom and Dick and Harry. She courted night and day, but still she wouldn’t marry. Then she fell in love with the fella with the stammer. He tried to run away, so she hit him with a hammer. Chorus She had children by the stairs, and children be the biar. And another 10 or 12, sitting roaring by the fire. She fed them on spuds, and soup she made with nettles. And the lumps of hairy bacon that she boiled up in the kettle Chorus She led a sheltered life, eating bacon and black pudding. She terrorised her man, and then he died right sudden. But when her husband died, she wasn’t very sorry. She wrapped him in a bag, and she fucked him in the quarry