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 morning
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