Jack O'Connell

Oh, the summertime has come
And the trees are sweetly bloomin'
The wild mountain thyme
Grows around the bloomin' heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?
And w...

Then off to reap the corn
And leave where I was born
I cut a stout black thorn
For to banish ghosts and goblins
A brand new pair of brogues
To rattle ...