Sit down on that stool, hear the can't of a fool   And a strange tale I'll tell to ye   Of a time that I lived at the buff of a hill   'Neath the burial chambers you see      One Saturday night, I get up on me bike   For to go to a dance in the town   I set off at seven to be there for eleven   No thought of the rain comin' down      I pushed up the hill, the rain started to spill   So for shelter I had to resort   Helter-skelter I went as downhill I sped   To the trees at the old fairy fort      I pulled up me bike, be a tree in the gripe   To find shelter out of the storm   The rain it came down and like stones beat the ground   It was grand to be dry in that storm      I was dreamin' away about better days   When a voice, it says, "Dirty old night"   I fell over me bike, I got such a fright   When the ghostly voice bid me the night      But you jumped up with a start, gave the storm not a thought   As the hail beat a rhythm on me   And I stared at the tree that had spoken to me   Not a body was there I could see      I trembled and shook the tree, twisted and booked   As the wind got into a scream   And I grabed for me bike in that devil's owned night   Expecting to wake from a dream      The voice I had heard, not another word said   As the hair on the head stood on me   And I said an "Our Father" as I peddled much faster   Away from that ghost haunted tree      For weeks and weeks after with nerves a disaster   Nowhere near that road would I go   And from dusk through the night I would shake with the fright   Of the tree that had haunted me so      Now, whenever I go to a dance in the town   I make sure not to stop on the way   To be there for eleven, I still leave at seven   But I go be a different way