Have you heard of Bill Dowdle or Wallace's ass
Or Dinney the Bowery from Paddy Bill's cross
Or that rogue of an ass, that belongs to pat shine
Sure he couldn't hold a candle to Flannery Brine.

Now this ass couldn't be tackled without a long handled fork,
And at pulling The car, he'd do six asses' work,
He was fed on the best of skins at each meal,
Sure he'd gobble 'em up, and he'd wag his auld tail.

He was musical too, I will have you to know.
You could hear his sweet voice up in Ballymakeogh
Sure he'd run down the scale from high g to a zed,
And he'd bawl ten times more if a tinker was dead.

Oh, no fence in the parish his thieving could stop
Not a fifty foot wall paved with glass on the top,
But he'd climb and get o'er with the greatest of ease,
He'd devour all the cabbages, beans, and the peas.

And when full to the muzzle, he'd then try a flower,
All the pansies and daisies, he'd go and devour,
He had a particular relish for gerani-i-yums,
But he always wound up with rodan-derum-dums.

He'd go down to the chapel and climb o'er the gate.
Not a shrub in the yard, but he'd go and he'd eat,
And when Dan would come out for to hit him a poke,
He'd land his heels in his chest and he'd think it a joke

Now to get rid of this ass, we must form a plan.
Let us all be united, each boy to a man,
And the next time a tinker comes round be the way,
sure we'll sell him and have him sent over the sea.

If he dies on the passsage, and don't reach the Cape,
Sure there's no need to tell you, we're not going to wear crepe
But if all goes well, and he lands on the shore,
He can stop there forever with Paul Kruger the Boer.