Here comes Mister MacNeil
The fine shape that he is in
There is no telling which way he'll feel
After his twister around the beinn

Raisin' the jar an raisin' hell
There's plenty of stories that
they will tell
Some are born of true detail
Some are purely fiction

Look up yonder it's old MacPhee
He's having a few he can hardly see
Wrapped his buggy around a tree
Someone call the Mounties

Raisin't the jar and raisin' hell
There's plenty of stories that
they will tell
Some are born of true detail
Some are purely fiction
There they stand by the door
Selling bush by the score
Asking you to buy some more
Along the shores of 'Cocomagh

Raisin' the jar and raisin' hell
There's plenty of stories that
they will tell
Some are born of true detail
Some are purely fiction

I'll go home, I'll go home
Full of the devil and full of the rum
I'll go home, I'll go home
We'll all go home in the morni