The Night the Gards Raided Owenys

And the music began in a old-fashioned style

You would travel to hear it for many a mile

I was drinking and laughing away all the while

Sure I thought I was dead and in heaven

One evening of late, down to Crowe Street I strayed

To a bar that's famous for doing a late trade

In vodka and whiskey and red lemonade

Among company that's kindly and jovial

The man from Kinawley put me at me ease

And sat me down easy beside a big blaze

He poured me a pint and a half-one that pleased

And another wee drop came from Oweny

For an hour and a half, I drank liquor so rare

You would swear it was brewed by the gods, I declare

Out of nectars and honeys and lotuses fair

And it freshly came over the border

At half past eleven, I sadly prepared

To return to my lodgings where I was reared

I packed up me bags, I was filled with dull care

And then Oweny put in a big order

So the tipplers relaxed and returned to their drinks

Rejoicing that now they need not feel the pinch

Peter Shore finished off the last eighth of an inch

He was sucking since twenty past seven

And the music began in an old-fashioned style

You would travel to hear it for many's a mile

We were laughing and dancing away all the while

I thought I was dead and in heaven

There were lads there from Newry, the Rock and the Hack

And some came from Belfast and never went back

And more lived convenient to Carroll's and Black's

And every man jack swilling porter

Some came from Hill Street and more from the Quay

Some Crossmaglen patriots tearing away

Inniskeen, Donaghmoyne, they were all in array

And each one kept themselves in good order

A big dirty guard was out on the street

On passing the door, heard the music so sweet

And he kicked up his heels for to beat a retreat

And to summon up two of his cronies

They quickly returned to the scene of the crime

And they called on the company to fight or resign

"Let them in!" cried Pat Murphy, "We'll only be fined"

On the night that the guards raided Oweny's

Said the sergeant on entering, "Well, what's this I see?

And why are so many of ye on the spree?

Could it be that at long last the country is free

Your conduct it is most nefarious"

"Oh, the country's not free then," Oweny did say

If you want to drink porter like the rest you must pay

We'll stay here if we like till the clear light of day

You know in Dundalk we're gregarious"

So the guards went around and they took all our names

And they struggled to spell with their feeble wee brains

And of some names in Irish they made a great hames

And more they abandoned forever

To the roof of Mulholland's some quickly did climb

For to gaze on afar at the scene of the crime

To watch the auld guards making good overtime

As they gathered the rest all together

May the Divil he roast them high up on the ramp

The Garda, the Sergeant, the lad with the lamp

The dirty, mean, miserable, lousy, low tramps

From the bog that were dragged up so lowly

May they always see suffering and sorrow and pain

May their boots never fit, and their belts never strain

If they interrupt such a grand evening again

As the night that the guards raided Oweny's

May their motors all stand and their noses all run

And their necks now so red all turn green in the sun

And their teeth all turn black and fall out one by one

May starvation it a-make them grow boney

May their arses all fester and drop to their heels

And their last dying minutes be tempered with squeals

May they dance forever the fastest of reels

With the Divil for raiding poor Oweny