Pat-Riot, a Revolutionary Song

Och! my name is Pat Riot, And I’m never easy; For when all is quiet, It turns my head crazy; So to kick up a dust, By my soul is delighting; Then to lay it again, I fall to without fighting.

Chorus—Row, row, row, row, row, row.

Nought but times topsy turvy Suit my constitution; And all that I want, is A snug Revolution: Then in rank and in riches I’ll equal my betters; And a long list of creditors Change into debtors.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

I dare not be loyal, For this loyal reason; My tutor, Tom Paine, Tells me loyalty’s treason: And Priestley my Faith has Shook to its foundation; So I’ve no prospect on earth But eternal damnation.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

In this plight I’ve a plan, Tho’ it’s not ripe for broaching; But between you and me, ’Tis a little encroaching; By a stroke—slight of hand— To surprize all beholders: Why I mean to take off The king’s head from his shoulders.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

Then the crown, d’ye see, I wou’d lay on a shelf, Sir; Tho’ it fits me as if it Was made for myself, Sir: Och! good luck to the sound, How the dumb bells will ring, Sir, When I’ve made all men equal, And made myself king, Sir!

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

Just to guard off th’effect Of fell lightning and thunder, That together split churches And steeples asunder, I mean to pull down All old orthodox structures; ’Cause Priestley says chapels Are Heaven’s conductors.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

To see chapels, from churches, Like Phœnixes rising, Good souls, the dissenters Wou’d deem it surprising, And, grateful to me, They wou’d down on their knees too, Who hate both a church And a chapel of ease too.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

Now the lands of the church, That feed fat and lean preachers, By their leaves, I’ll bestow On the puritan teachers: Of their tithes, and their off’rings, And gifts, I’ll bereave ’em; And nought but their stomachs And consciences leave ’em.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

The law long establish’d No longer shall bind me; With my father before, Or my father behind me, I’ve nothing to do: Then your bother pray cease, Sir; I’ll lay down the law By a breach of the peace, Sir.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

Since the law and the gospel I’ve taken by storm, Sir, Physicians shall swallow My pills of reform, Sir; I’ll take off their wigs, Canes, fees, and degrees; And poison the rogues With their own recipes.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

Since the Commons are cyphers, The Lords but nick-names, Sir, I mean to prorogue ’em All into the Thames, Sir; And, lest folks should say I don’t humanely treat ’em, Doctor Hawes and cork jackets At Gravesend shall meet ’em.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

I’ll abolish all titles Mankind may inherit; From the fountain of honour, Worth, virtue, and merit: I’m a naked reformer: The doctrine I preach, is To take coats of arms off Shirts, waistcoats, and breeches.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

Thus age, youth, and beauty, Miss, master, and madam, All decently figg’d By the taylor of Adam: Why this is not new; Because high and low station, Were all in confusion Before the creation.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

By Jasus, to think how ’Twou’d tickle the devil, To see from a mountain, All things on a level; For the devil’s a patriot Not over nice, Sir, And he hates all distinctions ’Twixt virtue and vice, Sir.

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

Here’s long life after death To all hot-headed fellows, Who night and day work at The devil’s big bellows: What charming confusion, What fine botheration, To blow up the coals, And extinguish the nation!

Chorus—Row, row, &c.