Nothing Too Good for the Irish

I will tell a story that was told to me,
A good old story, Agra Machree,
When my mother was a-dying, alas, says she,
Nothing’s too good for the Irish.”
When we came here, me and brother Dan,
I says to him, “We’ll do the best we can,”
So they made him a “copper” and me an Alderman,
Nothing is too good for the Irish.

When my brother Michael came here that fall,
He was a “dandy” between you and all,
Soon he got to be the leader at Tammany Hall,
Nothing’s too good for the Irish.
But Mike wouldn’t work, oh, no, he wouldn’t work,
Says he to me as he gave me a nudge,
“Just wait till election and you’ll see me a judge,”
Nothing is too good for the Irish.

Soon I got to be the father of a twelve-pound lad,
He has whiskers already and that’s not bad,
He is going to be President some day, by dad,
Nothing’s too good for the Irish.
He sailed away with his blackthorn stick,
To marry the queen and make the British sick,
And try to free old Ireland like a good old Mick,
Nothing’s too good for the Irish.

Dutchmen were made for to carry coal in shovels,
Italians for organs and Englishmen to mash;
Chinese for washing, the Japs for a juggling show,
“Nagurs” for whitewashing, the Jews were made for cash.
Cubans for cigarettes, the Portuguese to sail the seas,
Scotchmen for bakers and Frenchmen for style,
Russians for mining, Americans for liberty.
But the men ’twas made for office was sons of Erin’s Isle,
THEN HIP, HIP HURRAH! ERIN GO BRAGH,
NOTHING’S TOO GOOD FOR THE IRISH.