What’s the Dun Cow doing on the Old Kent Road,
I’m wondering, when who should blow in
But this boyo wearing the moss-green gabardine
My mother wore when out feeding the hens.

Those beaks were taking it in turns to coax
Crushed oats from between her toes, her horny
Old toes covered over with sores, with the bunions
and warts that stuck out through her brogues.

So how’re they keeping? There’s rheum in his eye.
I had truck with them all – all the old crowd.
Yer da and yer ma, and the man in Dungourney?

Tucked up with their rosaries, they are,
Piled one on the other at home in Lisgoold,
Pushing up daisies for many the long year.