I met a jolly turfman as I slowly jogged along.
The kindest salutations passed 'twixt him and me.
And it's soon I got acquainted with the Turfman from Ardee.
We chatted very freely as we jogged along the road.
He says, "My ass is tired, and I want to sell my load,
For I've got no refreshment since I left my home you see
I am wearied out with travelling," says the Turfman from Ardee.
"Your cart is racked and worn friend, your ass is very old,
It must be twenty summers since that animal was foaled".
"He was yoked in a trap when I was born, September, '83,
And he cantered for the midwife", says the Turfman from Ardee.
"I own my cart, it must be made of the very best of wood,
I do believe it was in use the time of Noah's flood.
The axle never wanted grease but one year out of three-
It's a real old Carrick axle," says the Turfman from Ardee.
"I often do abuse the beast with this rough hazel rod,
Although I own I never yet did drive poor Jack unshod.
The harness now that's on his back was made by John Magee,
Who's dead this two and forty years," says the Turfman from Ardee.
We talked about our country's woes and how we were oppressed,
The men we sent to Parliament to get out wrongs redressed,
"Sure, all these politicians are nothing else I see
But led by bloomin' humbug," says the Turfman from Ardee.
Just then I heard a female voice that I knew very well,
Politely asking this old man his load of turf to sell.
I shook that horny hand of his and bowed respectfully,
In hopes to meet some future day the Turfman from Ardee.
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