The Rocky Road to Dublin

The sun is always in the sky 
Whenever I get out of bed, 
And I often wonder why 
It's never late. My sister said 
She did not know who did the trick, 
And that she did not care a bit, 
And I should eat my porridge quick. 
I think it's mother wakens it. 

Every Sunday there's a throng
Of pretty girls, who trot along
In a pious, breathless state
(They are nearly always late)
To the Chapel, where they pray
For the sins of Saturday.

They have frocks of white and blue,
Yellow sashes they have too,
And red ribbons show each head
Tenderly is ringleted;
And the bell rings loud, and the
Railway whistles urgently.

After Chapel they will go,
Walking delicately slow,
Telling still how Father John
Is so good to look upon
And such other grave affairs
As they thought of during prayers.

The hill is bare : I only find 
The grass, the sky, and one small tree 
Tossing wildly on the wind ; 
And that is all there is to see : 
A tree, a hill, a wind, a sky 
Where nothing ever passes by. 

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At four o'clock, in dainty talk, 
Lords and lovely ladies walk, 
With a gentle dignity, 
From the Green to Trinity. 

And at five o'clock they take, 
In a Cafe, tea and cake, 
Then they call a carriage, and 
Drive back into fairyland. 

A man was sitting underneath a tree 
Outside the village, and he asked me what 
Name was upon this place, and said that he 
Was never here before. He told a lot 
Of stories to me too. His nose was flat. 
I asked him how it happened, and he said 
The first mate of the Mary Ann done that 
With a marling-spike one day, but he was dead, 
And jolly good job too ; and he'd have gone 
A long way to have killed him, and he had 
A gold ring in one ear ; the other one 
"Was bit off by a crocodile, bedad." 
That's what he said. He taught me how to chew. 
He was a real nice man. He liked me too.