| Oh, one more thing. |
| One of the more important aspects of public folk singing is
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| audience participation, and this happens to be a good song for group singing.
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| So if any of you feel like joining in with me on this song, I’d appreciate it
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| if you would leave -- right now.
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| About a maid I’ll sing a song,
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| Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
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| About Sinead I’ll sing a song
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| Who didn’t have her family long.
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| Not only did she do them wrong,
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| She did ev’ryone of them in, them in,
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| She did ev’ryone of them in.
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| One morning in a fit of pique,
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| Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
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| One morning in a fit of pique,
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| She drowned her father in the creek.
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| The water tasted bad for a week,
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| And we had to make do with gin, with gin,
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| We had to make do with gin.
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| Her mother she could never stand,
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| Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
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| Her mother she cold never stand,
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| And so a cyanide soup she planned.
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| The mother died with a spoon in her hand,
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| And her face in a hideous grin, a grin,
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| Her face in a hideous grin.
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| She set her sister’s hair on fire,
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| Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
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| She set her sister’s hair on fire,
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| And as the smoke and flame rose high’r,
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| Danced around the funeral pyre,
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| Playin' a violin, -olin,
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| Playin' a violin.
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| She weighted her brother down with stones,
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| Rickety-tickety-tin,
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| She weighted her brother down with stones,
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| And sent him off to Davy Jones.
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| All they ever found were some bones,
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| And occasional pieces of skin, of skin,
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| Occasional pieces of skin.
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| One day when she had nothing to do,
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| Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
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| One day when she had nothing to do,
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| She cut her baby brother in two,
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| And served him up as an Irish stew,
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| And invited the neighbors in, -bors in,
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| Invited the neighbors in.
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| And when at last the police came by,
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| Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
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| And when at last the police came by,
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| Her little pranks she did not deny,
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| To do so she would have had to lie,
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| And lying, she knew, was a sin, a sin,
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| Lying, she knew, was a sin.
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| My tragic tale, I won’t prolong,
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| Rickety-tickety-tin,
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| My tragic tale I won’t prolong,
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| And if you do not enjoy my song,
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| You’ve yourselves to blame if it’s too long,
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| You should never have let me begin, begin,
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| You should never have let me begin. |