The Irish Ballad - Tom Lehrer

Written by：Lehrer

About a maid I'll sing a song

Sing rickety tickety tin

About a maid I'll sing a song

Who didn't have her family long

Not only did she do them wrong

She did every one of them in

Them in

She did every one of them in

One morning in a fit of pique

Sing rickety tickety tin

One morning in a fit of pique

She drowned her father in the creek

The water tasted bad for a week

And we had to make do with gin

With gin

And we had to make do with gin

Her mother she could never stand

Sing rickety tickety tin

Her mother she could never stand

And so a cyanide soup she planned

Her mother died with a spoon in her hand

And her face in a hideous grin

A grin

Her face in a hideous grin

She set her sister's hair on fire

Rickety tickety tin

She set her sister's hair on fire

And as the smoke and flame rose higher

Danced around the funeral pyre

Playin' a violin

'olin

Playin' a violin

She weighted her brother down with stones

Rickety tickety tin

She weighted her brother down with stones

And sent him off to davy jones

All they ever found were some bones

And the occasional pieces of skin

Of skin

Occasional pieces of skin

One day when she had nothing to do

Rickety tickety tin

One day when she had nothing to do

She cut her baby brother in two

And served him up as an irish stew

And invited the neighbors in

'bors in

Invited the neighbors in

And when at last the police came by

Rickety tickety tin

And when at last the police came by

Her little pranks she did not deny

To do so she would have had to lie

And lying she knew was a sin

A sin

Lying she knew was a sin

My tragic tale I won't prolong

Rickety tickety tin

My tragic tale I won't prolong

And if you do not enjoy my song

You've yourselves to blame if it's too long

You should never have let me begin

Begin

You should never have let me begin