Oh list to the lay of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strings in his old withered hands
But remember those fingers, they once could move sharper
To raise up the echoes of his dear native land

At wake or at fair I could twirl my shillelagh
And trip through the jigs with my brogues bound with straw
And know the fair maidens in the village and the valley
Loved the bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh

And when Sergeant Death’s cold arms shall embrace me
And lull me asleep with sweet 'Erin-go-Bragh'
By thе side of my Kathleen, my own love, then placе me
Then forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh

(Verse played as instrumental)

As I walked out in the streets of Laredo
As I walked out in Laredo one day
I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen
All wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay

Oh go write a letter to my grey-haired mother
And carry the same to my sweet sister dear
But please not a word of this shall you mention
When the crowd gathers ‘round you my story to tell
We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly
And bitterly wept as we bore him along
For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young, and handsome
We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong

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