| He ought to blush for himself, the old hayheaded philosopher, | 1 |
| For to go and shove himself that way on top of her. | 2 |
| Begob, he's the crux of the catalogue | 3 |
| Of our antediluvial zoo, | 4 |
| (Chorus) Messrs. Billing and Coo. | 5 |
| Noah's larks, good as noo. | 6 |
| 7 | |
| He was joulting by Wellinton's monument | 8 |
| Our rotorious hippopopotamuns | 9 |
| When some bugger let down the backtrap of the omnibus | 10 |
| And he caught his death of fusiliers, | 11 |
| (Chorus) With his rent in his rears. | 12 |
| Give him six years. | 13 |
| 14 | |
| 'Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children | 15 |
| But look out for his missus legitimate! | 16 |
| When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker | 17 |
| Won't there be earwigs on the green? | 18 |
| (Chorus) Big earwigs on the green, | 19 |
| The largest ever you seen. | 20 |
| 21 | |
| Suffoclose! Shikespower! Seudodanto! Anonymoses! | 22 |
| 23 | |
| Then we'll have a free trade Gaels' band and mass meeting | 24 |
| For to sod the brave son of Scandiknavery. | 25 |
| And we'll bury him down in Oxmanstown | 26 |
| Along with the devil and Danes, | 27 |
| (Chorus) With the deaf and dumb Danes, | 28 |
| And all their remains. | 29 |
| 30 | |
| And not all the king's men nor his horses | 31 |
| Will resurrect his corpus | 32 |
| For there's no true spell in Connacht or hell | 33 |
| (bis) That's able to raise a Cain. | 34 |