The Irish Ballad
Words & Music:
Tom Lehrer
Em
Am
Em
About a maid I'll sing a song,
sing rickety-tickety-tin,
Am
Em
D Em
About a maid I'll sing a song,
who didn't have her fam'ly long.
Em Am Em Am
Not only did she do them
wrong,
Em E Em D Em D Em
She did ev'ryone of them in,
them in, she did ev'ryone of them in.
One morning in a fit of pique,
sing rickety-tickety-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, we had to make do with gin.
Her mother she could never
stand, sing rickety-tickety-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 sister's hair on
fire, a-Rickety-tickety-tin,
She set her sister's hair on fire,
& as the smoke and flame rose high'r,
Danced around the funeral
pyre,
Playin' a violin, -olin,
playin' a violin.
She weighted her brother down
with stones, a-Rickety-tickety-tin,
She weighted her brother down
with stones, & sent him off to Davy Jones.
All they ever found were some
bones,
And occasional pieces of skin,
of skin, occasional pieces of skin.
One day when she had nothing
to do, sing rickety-tickety-tin,
One day when she had nothing
to do, she cut her baby brother in two,
And served him up as an Irish
stew,
And invited the neighbors in,
-bors in, invited the neighbors in.
And when at last the police
came by, sing rickety-tickety-tin,
And when at last the police
came by, her little pranks she did not deny.
To do so she would have had to
lie,
And lying, she knew, was a
sin, a sin, lying, she knew, was a sin.
My tragic tale I won't
prolong, rickety-tickety-tin,
My tragic tale I won't
prolong, and if you do not enjoy my song,
You've yourselves to blame if
it's too long,
You should never have let me
begin, begin,
You should never have let me
begin.