'Tis about the old shillelagh that I'll sing to you tonight,
I've a twig that is both elegant and grand!
Mine was handed dow to me by my ould father, if I'm right,
'Twas the only thing, bedad, he had to hand!
Oh, the heads that it has broken and the hearts that it has won,
And the blood that it has managed to release!
Sure, I've lent it to the priest when there's been fighting in the fun,
And he's used it as a messanger of peace.

Chorus: For, a fine ould twig is an Irishman's shillelagh,
Sure and faith, it's equal in the world was never seen!
And from morn till night he's twirling it so gaily,
Long may it be treasured in the Land o' the Green!

The Shillelagh, folks imagine, like a bludgeon, operates,
But its action is more gentle and refined;
It's unequalled as a medicine for sick and aching pates,
And you'll find so if to try it you're inclined.
Sure, the best electric battery is nowhere by its side,
If a good electric shock you wish to meet.
Join an Irish merrymaking, and it cannot be denied
That the shock of a Shillelagh can't be beat.


'Tis my ould and tried companion, tho' it cannot speak a word,
Yet a true and faithful comrade it has been;
And at either fair or wedding, tho' its voice is never heard,
The visible effects of it are seen.
Oh, the mem'ries that arise when I grasp it in my hand
Of my ancestors who've used it in the fray!
And I hope that many years of strife the good old twig will stand,
Ere it's broken and in pieces laid away.


Written and composed by E.W. Rogers - 1903
Performed by Walter Munroe
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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