Come listen to my ditty, come listen to me hum,
While I relate a verse or two of the professional bum
Who travels the north, likewise the south, likewise the east and west,
Humming his chuck wherever he goes, and hanging the man who works.
CHORUS
To work upon the harvest,
and let the cocky starve us,
Humming our chuck wherever we go,
and hanging the man who works:
For we are bums and jolly good chums,
we live like Royal Turks -
If we have any luck we'll hum our chuck,
and hang the man who works.
I asked a woman the other day for something for to eat,
A little bit of chicken, or a little bit of meat;
A little bit of turkey, or a little bit of ham,
Half a dozen leaves of bread, and a bucketful of jam -
For we are nearly starving, anything at all to help a joker on his way.
Chorus: To work upon, etc.
We rise up in the morning, we rise up from our doss,
We rise up in the morning 'fore the dew is off the grass;
From the Harp into the Shamrock we fly like birds of the air,
And never cry a go, my boys, till bottled up with beer.
Chorus: To work upon, etc.
Now my tale is nearly finished, my song is nearly done,
Relating to the daily life of the professional bum,
Who travels the north, likewise the south, likewise the east and west,
Humming his chuck wherever he goes, and hanging the man who works.
Chorus: To work upon, etc.
