Irish Folksongs An Irishmans Epistle To The Officers And Troops At Boston Lyrics

An Irishmans Epistle To The Officers And Troops At Boston Lyrics

By my faith but I think ye're all makers of bulls,

With your brains in
your breeches, your bums in your skulls

Get home with your muskets and
put up your swords,

And look in your books for the meaning of words.

You see, now, my honeys, how much you're mistaken,

For Concord by
discord can never be taken.



How brave ye went out with your
muskets all bright,

And thought to be-frighten the folks with the
sight;

But when you got there how they powdered your pums,

And all
the way home how they peppered your bums.

And is it not, honeys, a
comical crack,

To be proud in the face, and be shot in the back?



How come ye to think, now, they did not know how,

To be after
their firelocks as smartly as you?

Why, you see, now, my honeys, 'tis
nothing at all,

But to pull at the trigger, and pop goes the ball,



And what have you got now with all vour designinng,

But a town
without victuals to sit down and dine in,

And to look on the ground like
a parcel of noodles,

And sing how the Yankees have beaten the Doodles.

I'm sure if you're wise you'll make peace for a dinner,

For fighting
and fasting will soon make ye thinner.