Book of Song

Irish Ballad, The

by Tom Lehrer

[Am] About a maid I’ll sing a song
sing [Am] rickety, [Dm] rickety [Am] tin
[Dm] about a maid I’ll [Am] sing a song
who [Am] didn’t [G] have her family [Am] long
Not [Am] only [Dm] did she [Am] do them [Dm] wrong
she [Am] did every [G] one of them [Am] in
Them [G] in
She [Am] did every [G] one of them [Am] in.

One morning in a fit of pique
sing rickety, rickety tin
One morning in a fit of pique
she drowned her father in the creek
The water tasted bad for a week
and we had to make do with gin
With Gin
and we had to make do with gin.

Her mother she could never stand
sing rickety, rickety tin
her mother she could never stand
and so a cyanide soup she planned
The mother died with a spoon in her hand
and her face in a hideous grin
A grin
Her face in a hideous grin.

She set her sisters hair on fire
sing rickety, rickety tin
she set her sisters hair on fire
and as the smoke and the flames grew higher
she danced around the funeral pyre
playing a violin
-olin
Playing a Violin

She weighted her brother down with stones
sing rickety, rickety tin
she weighted her brother down with stones
and sent him off to Davy Jones
all they ever found were some bones
and occassional pieces of skin
of skin
and occassional pieces of skin

One day when she had naught to do
sing rickety, rickety tin
One day when she had naught to do
she cut her baby brother in two
and served him up as an Irish stew
and invited the nieghbors in
them in
and invited the nieghbors in

And when at last the police came by
sing rickety, rickety tin
And when at last the police came by
her little pranks she did not deny
To do so, she would have to lie
and lying she knew was a sin
a sin
and lying she knew was a sin

My tragic tale I won’t prolong
sing rickety, rickety tin
My tragic tale I won’t prolong
and if you don’t enjoy my song
you’ve yourself to blame if its too long
you should never have let me begin
begin
you should never have let me begin!