Serbanicapf

All I know is I lose myself. At that time I become something else and I hate it.

In the merry month of May, From my home I started, Left the girls of Tuam, Nearly broken hearted, Saluted father dear, Kissed my darlin' mother, Drank a pint of beer, My grief and tears to smother, Then off to reap the corn, And leave where I was born, I cut a stout blackthorn, To banish ghost and goblin, In a brand new pair of brogues, I rattled o'er the bogs, And frightened all the dogs,On the rocky road to Dublin.    One, two, three, four five,    Hunt the hare and turn her    Down the rocky road    And all the ways to Dublin,    Whack-fol-lol-de-ra.