Ireland

The Irishman is never quite Contented with his little lot; He's ever thirsting for a fight, A grievance he has always got; And all his energy is bent On trying not to pay his rent.

He lives upon a frugal fare (The few potatoes that he digs), And hospitably loves to share His bedroom with his wife and pigs; But cannot settle even here, And gets evicted once a year.

In order to amuse himself, At any time when things are slack, He takes his gun down from the shelf And shoots a landlord in the back; If he is lucky in the chase, He may contrive to bag a brace.