Текст: Pogues, The. Poor Paddy.

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In eighteen hundred and forty-one

The corduroy breeches I put on

Me corduroy breeches I put on

To work upon the railway, the railway

I'm weary of the railway

Poor Paddy works on the railway



In eighteen hundred and forty-two

From Hartlepool I moved to Crewe

Found myself a job to do

A working on the railway



I was wearing corduroy breeches

Digging ditches, pulling switches

Dodging pitches, as I was

Working on the Railway



In eighteen hundred and forty-three

I broke the shovel across me knee

I went to work for the company

On the Leeds to Selby railway



I was wearing corduroy breeches

Digging ditches, pulling switches

Dodging pitches, as I was

Working on the Railway



In eighteen hundred and forty-four

I landed on the Liverpool shore

My belly was empty me hands were raw

With working on the railway, the railway

I'm sick to my guts of the railway

Poor Paddy works on the railway



In eighteen hundred and forty-five

When Daniel O'Connell he was alive

When Daniel O'Connell he was alive

And working on the railway



I was wearing corduroy breeches

Digging ditches, pulling switches

Dodging pitches, as I was

Working on the Railway



In eighteen hundred and forty-six

I changed my trade to carrying bricks

I changed my trade to carrying bricks

To work upon the railway



I was wearing corduroy breeches

Digging ditches, pulling switches

Dodging pitches, as I was

Working on the Railway



In eighteen hundred and forty-seven

Poor Paddy was thinking of going to Heaven

The old bugger was thinking of going to Heaven

To work upon the railway, the railway

I'm sick to my death of the railway

Poor Paddy works on the railway



I was wearing corduroy breeches

Digging ditches, pulling switches

Dodging pitches, as I was

Working on the Railway