I am a little bachelor, I’m getting old and grey,
I own a bit land on the hillside at Owenreagh,
My house is big and empty, and in an awful plight,
As it’s green with moss and other things, where one time it was white,
But I’m not inclined to worry, as its built of stone and lime,
And if Hitler doesn’t level it, it might do me my time,
I haven’t got a woman, and wouldn’t let one in,
As I’m fit to do my cooking in my wee black tin,
O, I once had a pan, and could make a little fry,
But it’s in a hundred pieces in the garden over by,
But I still have a pot, to wash my underclothes,
And it’s wonderful the that the soap and ‘Rinso’ goes,
I can patch, I can darn, if there’s any wool around,
And I’m saving up my coupons for a day at Draperstown,
I haven’t got a worry, and no troubles am I in,
If the soot would keep from falling in my wee black tin.
O, there are mice at my place, and a great big bearded rat,
But I have a box of ‘Romor’ and it soon will settle that,
The neighbours talk about it, and keep up a mighty fuss,
That I should search the countryside, and try and get a puss,
But there’s two things that I’m hating, and I’m going to tell you what,
That is a scolding woman, and a sponging tabby cat.
The one creates destruction, and the other makes a din,
And would soon upset the cooking in my wee black tin.
O, the neighbours think I’m daft, but it’s little that they know,
‘Tis fate that does decree the way, which each of us must go,
I am not daft at all, as plainly may be seen,
As there’s many other bachelors, around the hills of ‘Screen,
‘Tis the Goverment which made us such, and kept us as we are,
As they ruined us completely, since the last big German war,
But now they’re giving subsidies, I’m guessing why its done,
It’s to try to keep us living ’till the present war is won.
O, there’s soot on my hearth, and there’s ashes on the floor,
Flu germs in their millions lying dead beside the door,
To kill the little beggars, you need neither hang nor shoot,
There’s nothing does the trick, like an overdose of soot,
So I’m not keen on sweeping, and I seldom use a brush,
It saves both time and labour, just the very thing I wish,
So with germs dead without, and soot enough within,
I’m happy when I’m cooking in my wee black tin.
George Barnett 