Here comes Mister MacNeil 
The fine shape that he is in 
There is no telling which way he'll feel 
After his twister around the beinn 

Raisin' the jar an raisin' hell 
There's plenty of stories that 
they will tell 
Some are born of true detail 
Some are purely fiction 

Look up yonder it's old MacPhee 
He's having a few he can hardly see 
Wrapped his buggy around a tree 
Someone call the Mounties 

Raisin't the jar and raisin' hell 
There's plenty of stories that 
they will tell 
Some are born of true detail 
Some are purely fiction 
There they stand by the door 
Selling bush by the score 
Asking you to buy some more 
Along the shores of 'Cocomagh 

Raisin' the jar and raisin' hell 
There's plenty of stories that 
they will tell 
Some are born of true detail 
Some are purely fiction 

I'll go home, I'll go home 
Full of the devil and full of the rum 
I'll go home, I'll go home 
We'll all go home in the morning