Tag Archives: dirty song lyrics

Racy Tune from the 18th Century – Oh MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Screen Shot 2017-02-06 at 1.27.12 PMRecently, I spoke with archeologist and historian Damian Shiels for the Rogue Historian podcast. We had a great talk – mostly about Irish immigration in the 19th century and about Irish in the American Civil War. Good stuff. But something came up when we were discussing odd things one might find in the archives. Damian mentioned a previously unpublished song that was loaded with – shall we say – bawdy lyrics.

I asked to publish the song here…how could I resist. Read if you will…and try not to blush…just watch out for the Shilealy.

‘A New Song’

Murtagh O’Blany & Jenny O’Donely

Both went together to thresh in the barn

He laid her down and her so bonnily

Arra says he but I’ll do you no harm

O but says Jenny I fear you’ll be In me

And what if I am I’ll do you no harm

O Murtagh be easy I faint

Be quiet my Jewel my door

For by St. Patrick our Saint

I’ll give you no reason to fear

Then with a look so engaging and gently

He to her bosom his hand did apply

Both her snowy mountains he tousled so daintily

That with her passion caused many a sigh

O But says Jenny I fear you’ll be in me

By Jesus says he if I don’t I shall die

O’ Murtagh be easy I pray

Do prithy be gone from my sight

By Jesus my virtue’l give way

I’m lost in a flood of delight

He then beholding her eyelids thus quivering

Scarcely from pity his heart could refrain

Fearing to anger her he stood a wavering

But was resolved to attack her again

Then Mr. Blaney pulled out his Shilealy

A weapon he ne’er show’d a woman In vain

Staring she lift up her eyes

And gently she rear’d up her head

What is it O Murtagh she cries

That looms so stately and red

Sweet one says Murtagh I’ll show you the use of it

Gently fall backwards your legs open wide

No girl in Munster to big it as you so fitt

It with your hand you’d vouchsafe it to guide

Then Miss O’Donnely strok’d it so bonnily

Arrah says she but I’ll down with your pride

Then closing with eager embrace

They soon reach’d the end of their joy

Jenny now alter’d her gaze

No longer was she squeamish and Coy

With sweet raptures and soft dying murmurings

Lifeless they lay as it was in a trance

Eager he drove but could drive it no further in

Jenny had shiver’d the lance

Oh what’s that says Jenny

Felt so warm in me

That makes all my bowels to prance

‘Tis loves luscious Balsom my dear

Says Murtagh the tulip of life

A cordial that banishes care

Curd cures the worst scold of a wife’

Wow. Original available at

National Library of Ireland MS. 3240: ‘Notebook of an Irish Ensign Gilbert King serving with the British Forces in Canada & Containing Personal Accounts, Copies of letters & two songs, 1761-68.’

 

With compliments,

Keith