When the Election is over I hope you’ll agree,
For the right man is in, we sent home the K.C.
For now we can be singing, dancing old Irish jig
And we’ll tell Paddy Lynch to go home for his wig.

I was addressing a crowd down at Mick Carmody’s Hotel,
I won’t say who they were, for you know them too well.
Those ? with the bottles and kids without shoes
And a few drunken men whistling mad through their flutes.

Then up comes poor Lawlor and on to them said:
‘I’ve been beaten today, I have got a sore head.
The blaggards of Scarriff, ‘tis we’ll put them down
For if Lynch is elected we’ll smash up the town.’

The seat in Kilkenny you all know it’s full,
For that is another great blow to John Bull.
And all the Irish Party are dyin’ one by one
Of shock and heart failure, they’re all nearly gone.

The sight of that number whilst they were alive,
Two thousand nine hundred and seventy five,
Has put them to sleep so that they might forget
The East Clare Election has them there asleep yet.