Sullivan's John, to the road you've gone
Far away from your native home.
You've gone with a tinker's daughter
For along the road to roam.
Sullivan's John, you won't stick it long,
Your belly will soon get slack.
You'll be roaming the road with a mighty load
And a tooten box on your back.
I met Katy Coffey, she'd her neat baby
Tossed behind on her back strapped on.
She'd an old ash plant all in her hand
To drive her donkey along,
Enquiring at every farmer's house
That along the road she passed.
Oh it's where would she get an old pot to mend?
Or where would she swap an ass?
I heard of a fair in the County Clare
At a place call Spancil Hill
Where my brother James got a rap of the hames [harness],
Poor Paddy they tried to kill.
They loaded him up on an ass and cart
While Pat and Mary looked on.
Oh, bad luck to the day that I went away
To join a tinker's band.