Och ! my name's Pat Malone, and I'm from Tipperary.
Sure, I don't know it now, I'm so bothered, Ohone !
And the gals that I danced with, light hearted and airy,
It's scarcely they'd notice poor Paddy Malone.
'Tis twelve months or more since our ship she cast anchor
In happy Australia, the Emigrant's home,
And from that day to this there's been nothing but canker,
And grafe and vexation for Paddy Malone.
Oh Paddy Malone ! Oh Paddy, Ohone !
Bad luck to the agent that coaxed ye to roam.
Wid a man called a squatter I soon got a place, sure;
He'd a beard like a goat, and such whiskers, Ohone !
And he said - as he peeped through the hair on his faitures -
That he liked the appearance of Paddy Malone.
Wid him I agreed to go up to his station,
Saying, "Abroad in the bush you'll find yourself at home,"
I liked his proposal, and wi'out hesitation
Signed my name wid a X that spelt Paddy Malone.
Oh, Paddy Malone, you're no scholard, Ohone !
Sure I made a cris-cras that spelt Paddy malone.
A-herdin my sheep in the bush, as they call it -
It was no bush at all, but a mighty great wood,
Wid all the big trees that were small bushes one time,
A long time ago, faith ! I s'pose 'fore the flood.
To find out this big bush one day I went further,
The trees grew so thick that I couldn't, Ohone !
I tried to go back then, but that I found harder,
And bothered and lost was poor Paddy Malone.
Oh, Paddy Malone, through the bush did he roam !
What a babe in the wood was poor Paddy Malone.
I was soon overcome, sure, with grafe and vexation,
And camped, you must know, by the side of a log;
I was found the next day by a man from the station,
For I coo-eed and roared like a bull in a bog.
The man said to me, "Arrah, Pat! Where's my sheep now ?"
Says I, "I dunno ! Barring one here at home,"
And the master began and kicked up a big row too,
And swore he'd stop the wages of Paddy Malone.
Arrah ! Paddy Malone, you're no shepherd, Ohone!
We'll try you with bullocks now, Paddy Malone.
To see me dressed out with my taem and my dray too,
Wid a whip like a flail and such gaiters, Ohone!
But the bullocks, they eye'd me, and seemed for to say, too,
"You may do your best, Paddy, we're blest if we go."
"Gee whoa! Redman! come hither, Damper!
Hoot, Magpie! Gee, Blackbird! Come hither, Whalebone!"
But the brutes turned around sharp, and away they did scamper,
And heels over head turned poor Paddy Malone.
Oh, Paddy Malone! you've seen some bulls at home,
But the bulls of Australia cow Paddy Malone."
I was found the next day where the brutes they did throw me
By a man passing by, upon hearing me groan;
And, wiping the mud from my face till he knew me,
Says he, "Your name's Paddy!" "Yes Paddy Malone."
I thin says to him, "You're an angel sent down, sure!"
No, faith, but I'm not, but a friend of your own!"
And by his persuasion, for home then I started,
And now see before you poor Paddy Malone.
Arrah, Paddy Malone! You are now safe at home.
Bad luck to the agent that coaxed you to roam.