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The hat that I have on, it is so greasy gone
And as you can tell by its shining
It used to fasten up with a button and a loop
But now it's all worn out to the lining.
All through the ale, the confounded ale
All through the ale and tobacco
With a whack-fol-the-day, fol-the-diddle, fol-the-day
All through the ale and tobacco.
The coat that I have on, it is so far run down
It's out at the sleeve and the elbow
It's needing of repair like a soldier in despair
That's been seven years in the battle.
The breeches I have on, they are so far run down
My legs you so plainly can see them
Pockets I have two but it's long since they were new
And I never have a penny to put in them.
Stockings I have two, but I never had a shoe
And my boots they are open to all weathers
I've pulled them off and on till the undersoles are gone
And shockingly destroyed the upper leathers.
As for my rags, I don't give a jag,
I'm not afraid that anyone should rob me
And when I am dead you can put it on my grave
I left this old world as it found me.
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