When I was a young apprentice   and less than compos mentis   I took leave of all my senses   with a maid I fell in love.   Her ringlets so entwined me   Aphrodite's smile did blind me   Cupid's arrow struck behind me   and her father owned a pub.   It was there I met my nemesis   in her father's licensed premises   Like the Seraphim of Genesis   sat Mary Anne Maguire.   Arrayed in fine apparel   astride a porter barrel   She looked the kind of girl that   would fill you with desire.      All the turtle doves were cooing   as I took to my wooing   Her Loveliness pursuing   in the springtime of that year.   But she thought I should be older   and more gallant and much bolder   In the uniform of a soldier   'tis then she'd hold me dear.   In extremis and euphoria   I joined with Queen Victoria   For a spell of death or gloria   a-fighting with the Boers.   To the wind I threw all caution   I'll return with fame and fortune   And together make a portion   of matrimony's chores.      On the gravestone of her mother   she swore she loved no other   But I was to soon discover   that she played me for a berk.   For lady-luck had beached me   and intelligence had reached me   Whilst I'd been overseas she   had married to a Turk.   Well me, I then deserted   for to find the girl who'd flirted   Back to Ireland I reverted   for my jealously was roused.   In Maguire's Pub in Derry   I found him making merry   With his arms around my Mary   as together they caroused.      So I took my time and waited   until his thirst was sated   And home he navigated   through the streets of Derry town.   At his lodgins he stood knocking   and whilst they were unlocking   I put a stone into a stocking   on his head I brought it down.   'Twas then the night's serenity   was rent with loud obscenity   And Ottoman profanity   that I couldn't understand.   With an oath he made to grab me   with full intent to stab me   But as he tried to kebab me   I was screaming up the strand.      All around the town's perimeter   he chased me with his scimitar   A powerful passion limiter   to an errant in his pride.   Through the waterside he chased me   to the Bridge of Foyle he raced me   And at Derry Quay he faced me   so I jumped into the tide.   Sure bravery's no virtue   when some heathen's trying to hurt you   And all noble thoughts desert you   when you see his curly knife.   For there's many things worth trying for   and occasionally worth lying for   But there's bugger-all worth dying for   so I'll stick to the soldier's life.