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McCarthy's Widow 'Twas three years ago this very day, I took to me a wife. And ever since she's proved to be a burden to me life. She was the widdy of McCarthy and of course that was her name, But for changing it to Kelly, sure she's not to blame. She speaks about McCarthy and his virtues every day, And she wishes l'd keep sober and be like him every way. But she beat him with the broom stick every time the baby cried, And made him rock the cradle `til from cruelty he died. cho: For she'd lick him, she'd kick him, she'd never let him be. She'd lash him, she'd slash him until he couldn't see. Oh, McCarthy wasn't hearty, now she has a different party. She might have licked McCarthy but she can't lick me. For l'm going down to Pace's now, the purpose to get tight. And when I do get home again, there's bound to be a fight. I will smash up all the furniture before I do get through. Upset the stove and - the first dumb thing I do. The difference then in the two men, she hastily will see, And know which is the best man, McCarthy or me. Then, maybe she'd behave herself and learn to shut her mouth, For if she gets me into jail, she'll have to get me out. She said that every evening he done all the work he could; He used to wash the dishes and he split the kindling wood. He'd carry in the coal himself, no labor would he shirk; He'd rinse the clothes on wash days before he went to work. He lit the fires every morn and got the breakfast, too; In fact, there was not anything at home he didn't do. And if he didn't stir himself, and wash and mend his clothes She'd often send the frying pan to try and break his nose. From Folk Songs out of Wisconsin, Peters Collected from Gene Silsbe, Colburn, WI 1941. RG
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