That s eight times to-day that you ve kissed me before. Then here goes another, says he, to make sure, For there s luck in odd numbers,3 says Rory OMore.
As she sat in the low-backed car The man at the turn-pike bar Never asked for the toll But just rubbed his auld poll And looked after the low-backed car.
Sure my love is all crost Like a bud in the frost And theres no use at all in my going to bed, For t is dhrames and not slape that comes into my head!