If you ever go to Dublin town In a hundred years or so Inquire for me in Baggot street And what I was like to know O he was the queer one Fol dol the di do He was a queer one And I tell you My great-grandmother knew him well, He asked her to come and call On him in his flat and she giggled at the thought Of a young girl's lovely fall. O he was dangerous, Fol dol the di do, He was dangerous, And I tell you On Pembroke Road look out for me ghost, Dishevelled with shoes untied, Playing through the railings with little children Whose children have long since died. O he was a nice man, Fol do the di do, He was a nice man And I tell you Go into a pub and listen well If my voice still echoes there, Ask the men what their grandsires thought And tell them to answer fair, O he was eccentric, Fol do the di do, He was eccentric And I tell you He had the knack of making men feel
As small as they really were Which meant as great as God had made them But as males they disliked his air. O he was a proud one, Fol do the di do, He was a proud one And I tell you If ever you go to Dublin town In a hundred years or so Sniff for my personality, Is it Vanity's vapour now? O he was a vain one, Fol dol the di do, He was a vain one And I tell you I saw his name with a hundred more In a book in the library, It said he had never fully achieved His potentiality. O he was slothful, Fol do the di do, He was slothful And I tell you He knew that posterity had no use For anything but the soul, The lines that speak the pa**ionate heart, The spirit that lives alone. O he was a lone one, Fol do the di do O he was a lone one, And I tell you O he was a lone one, Fol do the di do Yet he lived happily And I tell you.