Traa-Dy-Liooar

There's a wickad little falla that goes among us here, An' the wickadness thass at him is tellin' far an' near; He's prowlin' in the haggart an' in at every dhure, An' coaxin' an' persuadin',--an' his name is Traa-dy-Liooar.

The house is all through others, the childher's late for school, The man is spendin' all his time in lookin' for a tool, The wumman's tired thremendjus with clearin' up the flure, An' the wan that's doin' all the jeel is wickad Traa-dy-Liooar.

The fields is full of cushag, the gates is patched with gorse, You'll hardly see the harness for the mire upon the horse; The cows is shoutin' shockin', an' puzzlin' them for sure, Is the waitin' doin' on them at that tejus Traa-dy-Liooar.

There's a power of foes within us, and enemies without, But the wan that houls the candle is that little lazy lout; So just you take an' scutch him, an' put him to the dhure, An' navar let him in again, that tejus Traa-dy-Liooar.