Tom Lehrer The Irish Ballad Lyrics:
Now I'd like to turn to the folk song, which has become in
recent years the particularly fashionable form of idiocy
among the self-styled intellectual. We find that people
who deplore the level of current popular songs -- although
I admit they do seem to be recording almost anything these
days. Have you heard Sesue Hayakawa's record of Remember
Pearl Harbor? These same people who deplore the level of
current popular songs and yet will sit around enthralled
singing Jimmy crack corn and I don't care or Green Grow
The Rushes, Oh! -- whatever that means. At any rate, for
this elite I have here an ancient Irish ballad, which was
written a few years ago, and which is replete with all the
accoutrements of this art form. In particular, it has a
sort of idiotic refrain, in this case rickety-tickety-tin
you'll notice cropping up from time to time, running
through, I might add, interminable verses. The large
number of verses being a feature expressly designed to
please the true devotees of the folk song who seem to find
singing fifty verses of On Top Of Old Smokey is twice
as enjoyable as singing twenty-five.

This type of song also has what is known technically in
music as a modal tune, which means -- for the benefit of
any layman who may have wandered in this evening -- that I
play a wrong note every now and then.
[Piano]
This song though does differ strikingly from the genuine
folk ballad in that in this song the words which are
supposed to rhyme - actually do.
[Piano]
I, ah, I really should say that - I do not direct
these remarks against the vast army of folk song
lovers, but merely against that peculiar hard core
who seem to equate authenticity with artistic merit
and illiteracy with charm.
[piano]
Oh, one more thing. One of the more important aspects of
public folk singing is audience participation, and this
happens to be a good song for group singing. So if any of
you feel like joining in with me on this song, I'd
appreciate it if you would leave -- right now.

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,
[ Find more Lyrics on www.mp3lyrics.org/QkqX ]
She did ev'ryone of them in, them in,
She did ev'ryone 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,
We had to make do with gin.

Her mother she could never stand,
Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
Her mother she cold never stand,
And so a cyanide soup she planned.
The 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,
Sing 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 occasional pieces of skin, of skin,
Occasional pieces of skin.

One day when she had nothing to do,
Sing 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,
Sing 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.
Lyrics: The Irish Ballad, Tom Lehrer [end]