Foreman O'Rourke.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's maybe I'm right, and maybe I'm wrong,
Maybe I shouldnae go singing this song;
For the jury decided, and you may as well,
That a fellow like me should be roasting in Hell.

Chorus
Hooch-aye, hooch till I fa'.
Hooch-aye, hooch till I dee.

I had a gaffer, his name was O'Rourke.
He had a terrible passion for work;
In miles and in tons he took a' he could see,
But he never was greedy -he gied it tae me!

One day in the work I went roon for a smoke,
The door burst open, and there stood O'Rourke:
He started tae swear and he gied me his curse,
He insulted my mother, and that was far worse.

He jumped at my throat and it gave me a fright,
I was quick on my feet, and I stepped tae the right.
There was nothin' could stop him, this terrible man,
Till he landed feet up, wi' his heid in the pan.

I was trembling wi' fear when his heid gave a thud,
And I looked doon and saw that his claes were a' mud.
Yet it wisnae his claes were the worst o' his plight,
For his heid was jammed in there- a sorrowful sight.

I looked and I thought as I buckled my belt,
And you never could feel the compassion I felt:
'I'll wash a' his claes,' were the words that I said,
'Ach, and while I'm aboot it, I'll wash the man's heid.'

In Barlinnie I wait for the man tae come roon,
That'll open the door and let me drap doon.
And I'll pray for O'Rourke as they gie me the tug,
For they hang me the morra- for pullin' the plug.