There’s a dear little crop that’s brewed in our isle
Arthur Guinness himself sure that brewed it,
And the boozers upon it with pleasure doth smile
And has joy in their hearts when they take it.

It’s sold in the pub throughout the towns of our sire-land,
And it’s called for at night by the boozers of Ireland.
The dear little boozers, the sweet little boozers,
The dear little, sweet little, boozers of Ireland.

This dear little drop as it comes from the tap
And your handful of coins are extended,
Denotes from the sup you forever must stop
When your cash is entirely expended.

Then through the back yards and the back lanes our sire-land,
You’re chased after hours by the guards of old Ireland.
The dear little boozers, the sweet little boozers
The dear little, sweet little, boozers of Ireland.

“Another of the multitude of popular parodies on alcoholic drink, this time borrowing the air and form from the sentimental Irish song air ‘Dear Little Shamrock’.
Jim Carroll

<< Songs of Clare