Classic Poem

As I was a-crossin' the Abercrombie Mountains,
I met Sir Frederick Pottinger, and his money he was countin'.
I first drew me blunderbuss and then I drew me sabre
Sayin', "Stand and deliver-oh! for I'm your bold decayver."

chorus: With my mush-a-ring-a-dah,

Ri-tooral-addy-ah,
There's whisky in the jar!

I robbed him of his money; it was a pretty penny,
I robbed him of it all and took it home to Molly;
I took it home to Molly and I thought she'd ne'er deceive me,
Oh! the divil's in the wimmin for they never can be aisy

. . . . . . . . . all but the last two lines lost to time. . . . . . .

She fired off my pistols and damaged them with water -
Oh! the divil's in the wimmin for rearin' such a daughter."