(Brian McGinnis)
O Patrick Kealey is my name and I'm not unknown to fame
By the many void ventures I have made
In that land of graft and fraud my unwary feet have trod
That Eden commonly called the cattle trade
Of Herefords and Ayrshires that have graced my humble byre
I've had them black and white and red and blue
But there's none sticks in my mind, or left me so far behind
As the rangy ribs I bought from Micky Doo
Of his failings to begin: he was rangy-ribbed and thin
He was ring-boned and racked with the hoose
He was fluked and timber-tongued and he shivered when he dunged
And to masticate his grinders did refuse
He had TB for a fact, pig-mouthed and humphy-backed
The warble-fly had made a visit too
And had there been a sale for lice, I'd have doubled up the price
On the rangy ribs I bought from Micky Doo
He's a thoroughbred, says Mick, as he poked him with his stick
You can recognise the lines on which he's made
I will miss him to my grief for he's the sort that's easy beefed
If you graze him well till spring, he ought to grade
So the bargain it was struck and Mick handed out the luck
And to Rangy Ribs he bade a fond adieu
And I brought my stick to play and I headed for the brae
With the rangy ribs I bought from Micky Doo
Well I fed him for a year and it was then becoming clear
That condition to his ribs would never cling
The conclusion I came to that the only thing to do
Was to enter him and try him in the ring
So I groomed him up and down till the Tuesday came around
I was up before the sun had dried the dew
And I oiled and combed my hair, headed for Dungiven fair
With the rangy ribs I bought from Micky Doo
Oh I well remind the day when we topped the Shambles Brae
Outside McKenna's pub he gave a roar
And he arched his humpy back and he stopped dead in his tracks
As if to say, I've anchored here before
There he stuck me in the street in the blinding snow and sleet
The interest and the offers they were few
And though they looked him up and down, still they never bid a crown
For the rangy ribs I bought from Micky Doo
He was grazed from Derryard to snow-capped cold Minard
From the fertile fields of Feeny to the pass
And from clover-clad Fincairn to the meadows of Drumsurn
So he must have been a specialist in grass
At the Ligavallon Pot by the Specials nearly shot
And battle-scarred he ranged to Terrydoo
And Larney Quigg, it's said, often scared his weans to bed
With the rangy ribs I bought from Micky Doo
But a tear comes to my eyes when I think of his demise
And the circumstances under which he died
From the cold November blast I had him housed at last
And in the byre had him strongly tied
I was making my last rounds before Madge and I lay down
As any careful man is sure to do
When I found him cold as clay, choked by Duffy's musty hay
The old rangy ribs I bought from Micky Doo
Now when Madge she heard the news, she trembled in her shoes
And I wondered if her heart could stand the blow
We neither ate nor slept but an all-night vigil kept
And we waked him till the cocks began to crow
At the first grey streaks of dawn I pulled my waders on
Though it grieved my heart, the task I had to do
And by what light the candle gave, we washed and soaped and shaved
The old rangy ribs I bought from Micky Doo
Oh we buried him next day where the sunlight strikes the brae
The neighbours came from miles and miles around
For to pay their last respects, for you never know who's next
And help commit his carcase to the ground
There with willing hands and spade his last resting-place was made
And his body gently lowered from the broo
Ever more to be at rest - Duffy's hay had proved the test
For the rangy ribs I bought from Micky Doo
(as sung by Kevin Mitchell)
Susannes Folksong-Notizen English Notes
