The Irish Rovers - Paddy on the Turnpike lyrics

He's Paddy on the Turnpike, the man with the muddy boots The boy with the drum and the flute and the gun That never learned to shoot He's a poet and a character and he rings to freedom bell To preach the gospel half possessed in a pushcart bound for hell Chorus: Paddy on the Turnpike and he's tearing through the land A drink of rum and a Thompson gun And a bible in his hand Don't be talking to him for you'll never be the same before you know you'll go and join his patriotic game He's Paddy out in Boston with the whiskey in his hand He's a rover, he's a joker, and the son of a highway man He's a sailor down in Melbourne, and a priest in Bethlehem And he'll give you his all if you happen to fail Then he'll knock you down again Repeat Chorus You'll find him in the jungle teaching boys the art of war You'll hear him in Calcutta reading Kipling at the bar He's your man for every season with boot feet in his gub He'll read your stars and show you his scars If you're buying in the pub Forever 'til tomorrah good as gold that's made of bra** You can trust him with your life or your secrets 'til the last but you better lock your women up or hide your whiskey neat For he's the Paddy on the Turnpike that you'll never want to meet.