At the age of nineteen, I was digging the land
With me brogues on me feet and me spade in me hand
Well says I to meself, 'What a pity to see
Such a fine Kerry couldn't turf in Tralee.'

With your Kerry-I-Ah, fa lal deral lay
Kerry-I-Ah, fa lal deral lay

So I buttered me brogues and shook hands with me spade
Dashed off to the fair like a gallant young blade
The sergeant come up says 'Will you enlist?'
'Sure, sergeant,' says I, 'Stick the bob in me fist'

Then up comes the captain, and a man of great fame
Straightways he asks me my country and name;
Well, I told you before and tell him again
That me father and mother were two Kerrymen

Now the first thing they gave me, they called it a gun
And under the trigger I nesstled me thumb
The gun it spite fire, and vomited smoke
It gave a great leap and me shoulder near broke

Now the next place they took me was down to the sea
On board a great warship, bound for the Crimee
Three sticks in the middle, all hung with great sheet
Sure she walked on the water without any feet
We reached Balaclava all safe and all sound
And wet tired and weary we lay on the ground
Next morning at daybreak a bugler did call
And served us a breakfast of powder and ball

Now we fought them at Alma like wives and her man
But the Rooshians they foiled us along the Redan
While scaling a rampart meself lost an eye
And a great Russian bullet ran away with me thigh

Then the surgeon comes up and he soon stops the blood
And he gave me an elligant leg made of wood;
And they gave me a pension of tenpence a day
Contented on shiela I labour half-pay

Now that was the story that my grandfather told
As he sat by the fire all withered and old
'Remember,' said he,'that the Irish fight well
But the Russian artillery's hotter than Hell.'