Here comes Mister MacNeil

The fine shape that he is in

There is no telling which way he'll feel

After his twister around the beinn



Raisin' the jar an raisin' hell

There's plenty of stories that

they will tell

Some are born of true detail

Some are purely fiction



Look up yonder it's old MacPhee

He's having a few he can hardly see

Wrapped his buggy around a tree

Someone call the Mounties



Raisin't the jar and raisin' hell

There's plenty of stories that

they will tell

Some are born of true detail

Some are purely fiction

There they stand by the door

Selling bush by the score

Asking you to buy some more

Along the shores of 'Cocomagh



Raisin' the jar and raisin' hell

There's plenty of stories that

they will tell

Some are born of true detail

Some are purely fiction



I'll go home, I'll go home

Full of the devil and full of the rum

I'll go home, I'll go home

We'll all go home in the morning