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(air of "The Bould Tady Quill")
Come and sit by the fire and keep yourself warm and a story that's
true I will tell it to you.
Of a man who'll converse in fine conversation and has an old
grá for the old mountain-dew.
He has travelled this country to brew his fine whiskey from the
banks of the Lee to the shores of Dunchaoin.
The broad plains of Limerick and the high hills of Wicklow his
name I will tell you Jim Kearney, Cooleen.
With his dog and his gun like a hare he would run and the
woodcock and pheasant would fall by the score.
O'er mountain and valley the grey deer would rally as the
mighty Jim Kearney would leave a loud roar.
From the lakes of Teergay, Kenmare and Killarney to the high
and bleak hills over lonely Gougane.
Sure he is no stranger to famed Inchigeela, Mushera Mountain
or sweet Leaca-Bawn
All over this land with a trowel in his hand some high and fine
houses he has built from the ground.
From the coast of West Cork to the streets of Kanturk his work
of renown can be seen all around
Like trades-men of old sure he could uphold with the greatest
stone mason you ever did see
No master designer of the highest degree could baffle this
expert who lives by the Lee
Now many's the time when he in his prime would dance and
sing song from dark until dawn.
With a voice so enchanting like a lark in the morning, the sweet
notes would ring out from here to Grianan.
His eyes they would glow as the verses would flow with the
Pride Of Black Water or the Maid Of Gurteen
And of all the great singers and bards of this Island there is
none can compare with Jim Kearney, Cooleen.
Many years have now passed since the days of his youth with
the crack and ghost stories I will never forget.
Of times so undaunting with neighbours most charming and
Kearney's hot punch was the finest you'd get.
And now to conclude and finish my story of a man who's well
known for his famous poiteen
May his songs never die or his glass never dry so here's a long
life to Jim Kearney, Cooleen.