Oh, if I could stomp my heels and tap them to a steady beat,
And kick my legs up high and never trip on my own feet,
I would beg of every fiddler I encountered in my day
To take up bow, let fingers fly, and play the night away.
Yes, I would learn the steps to every jig and reel that’s known
And those not being near’ enough, I’d just make up my own,
And though my shoes be flapping and my toes be peeking through,
I’d keep dancing ‘til I had no feet for they were worn out too.
And when my time is finished here I’ll go out with a tune
And kick my stumpy legs up high from morning until noon,
But as the night comes creeping up to scare the day away
I’ll ask again with dying breath the fiddlers to play.
Then even as the nails are banged into my coffin tight,
And I’m lowered to my final rest sometime during the night,
At the sound of Irish music won’t the angels celebrate
And come dance with me a jig or two right up to Peter’s gate.