Tis a song about a row in a pub.

The row started because these three tailors couldn't shut their big traps. They were all hammered and in haughty overbearing mood. The three of them we are told were exceedingly ugly: one had a crooked nose, another had huge awkward feet, and the other was notable for his angry looking mug.

None of the three considered this obvious lack of distinction in the looks department as a cause for concern or bashfulness however, they were so full of their individual magnificence that they couldn’t possibly accommodate each other. They boasted in turn about how great they were at tailoring and didn’t omit to qualify their self praise with severe criticism of the other two.

The pub wasn’t big enough for all this ego so a row eventually broke out.

Our author friend, for the sake of harmony, stepped into this maelstrom to mediate. This was a bad idea, because while all their animosity towards each other was instantly forgotten their aggression wasn’t.

Our normally quite friend felt so aggrieved by his treatment (and he tells us he was kicked in the pants and shins for his trouble) that he wrote this song about his stressful afternoon. –at least he didn’t lose his sense of humour.

Words

Trathnóna dé sathairn s’ me istigh i tdig óil
Sa chúinne go seascair is piúnt ós mo chómhair
Do tháinig chugam gasra 's do luíodar ar ól
Ag díol is ag glaoch ar na cártaibh

Snáthaidí, méaracáin, cailc is siosúr
Is iarann smúdálta bhí i bpáirt ag an dtriúr
Táilliúr na geince is táilliúr na gcrúb
Is táilliúr na buile ó Chill Airne

Bhí duine ‘cu ar leath bhuile is duine ‘cu óg
Is duine ba shine na mise go mór
Do luíodar ar aighneas nuair a dhruid fútha an tól
Féachaint cioca dob oilte mar tháilliúr

Do labhair an fear críonna , se an tomhaise chóireodh
Dá bhfeicfeadh sé duine ag siúl roimhis sa ród
Go gcuirfeadh se culaith air ó smigin go bróg
Gan farcadh na feithleog ar fháithim

Ni gearánta dhuit a dhuine do labhair an fear óg
Ach ar táilliúirí oilte nil meas ar do shórt
Mura bhfeicffhinn ag an gcúinne don duine ach a chló
Chuirfhinn culaith air don bhfaisean is déanaí

Do labhar an fear buile is fuinneamh ‘na ghlór
“É istigh” ar seisean “na labhraig níos mó”
Mura bhfeicfinn ach an cúinne ‘n ar gaibh an fear óg
Chuirfhinn culaith air a sheasódh go bás é

Sara rith liomsa an gloine a bhi agamsa a ól
Do bhuail an fear buile le planc an fear óg
Gloiní dul na mplantracha ag titim den mbórd
Is tiománeadh ar buile an fear tábhairne

D'éiríos im’ sheasamh chun réitigh dár ndóigh
Ach dá mhéid mo chuid saothair bhíos lán de fuil srón
Ciceanna teanna bhí éiri dom thóin
Is bhí mo loirgne straiceatha is geartha