The Connaught Orphan

You Connaught orphan, bare of foot
You walked ten miles at seven years
You took your little sister's hand
And walked her to the boardhouse hall

And they had but room for one
You left your little sister in
And faint with hunger all day long
You walked the ten miles back again

Now Connaught boy, take off those clothes
We'll scrub your skin, not six months cleaned
Put on this nice black suit of clothes
Around your neck this handkerchief

This darling silken handkerchief
Around your lily-white boy's neck
Gather up your worn old rags
They make you look a palе old wreck

And now you look so proud and rare
You've comе a fine young looking boy
What do you say we'll burn these rags
Now you'll not need them anymore

But Connaught boy, why do you weep
With such a burst of misery?
Why do you cling so to these rags?
Whatever can the matter be?

"I'll surely die of hunger now
If they see me with your nice new clothes
They'll think I'm telling lies and that
I have a mammy feeds me so."

I promise there's no need for tears
And when the winter been and come
Your rags will be just souvenirs
So you can keep your new clothes on