Paddy on the Turnpike

He's Paddy on the turnpike, the man with the muddy boots
 The boy with the drum and the flute and the gun that never learned to shoot
 He's a poet and a chancer, and he rings the freedom bell
 To preach the Gospel, half-posessed
 In a bushcart bound for Hell
 Paddy on the turnpike, and he's tearing through the land
 A drink o' rum and a Thompson gun and a Bible in his hand
 Don't be talkin' to him, for you'll never be the same
 Before you know you'll go and join his patriotic game!
 He's Paddy out in Boston with whiskey in his hand
 He's a rover, he's a joker, and the son of a highwayman
 He's a sailor down in Melbourne and a priest in Bethlehem
 He'll give you his all, if you happen to fall, he'll knock you down again!
 Paddy on the turnpike, and he's tearing through the land
 A drink o' rum and a Thompson gun and a Bible in his hand
 Don't be talkin' to him, for you'll never be the same
 Before you know you'll go and join his patriotic game!
 HEY!
 You'll find him in the jungle, teachin' boys the art o' war
 You'll hear him in Calcutta reading Kipling at the bar,
 He's your man for any season, both feet and his gun,
 He'll read your stars and he'll show you scars if you're buyin' in the pub
 Forever, 'til tomorrow, good as gold, it's made of brass
 You can trust him with your life, or your secrets 'til the last
 But you'd better lock your women up, or hide your whiskey neat
 For he's Paddy on the turnpike, that you'll never want to meet!
 Paddy on the turnpike, and he's tearing through the land
 A drink o' rum and a Thompson gun and a Bible in his hand
 Don't be talkin' to him, for you'll never be the same
 Before you know you'll go and join his patriotic game!
 HEY!
 WHOO!
 YEAH-HEAH-HEAH!
 Whoo!