I know a workin' lad, His hands are hard an' rough, His cheeks are red an' braan, But I like him weel enough. His ee's as breet 's a bell, An' his curly hair is black, An' he stands six foot in his stockin' feet, An' his name is Rollickin' Jack. At morn, if we should meet, He awlus has a smile, An' his heart is gay an' leet, When trudgin' to his toil. He whistles, or he sings, Or he stops a joke to crack; An' monny a lass at he happens to pass Looks shyly at Rollickin' Jack. His mother's old an' gray; His father's deead an' gooan; He'll niver move away An' leave her all alooan. Choose who should be his wife, Shoo'll mak a sad mistak, For he's ivery inch a mother's lad, Is this rough an' rollickin' Jack. An' still I think sometimes Th' old woman wants a nurse; An' as for weddin' Jack, Why, there's monny a lass done worse. Of coorse it's not for me To tell him who to tak, But there's one I could name, if I could but for shame, Just the lass to suit Rollickin' Jack.
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