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Paddy when you die will you lend me your fiddle,
Oh, Paddy if you don't you can go to the devil;
Oh, be so kind as to lend me your fiddle,
And I'll play it everyday, and I'll keep it nice and shiny-O.
Across the river from Ontario,
In the valley of the Gatineau,
Lived a man and his loving wife;
I made their acquaintance in the last years of his life,
Sharp as a tack, as old as I was young,
Danced in the kitchen, these were the words he sung:
Paddy when you die will you lend me your fiddle,
Oh, Paddy if you don't you can go to the devil;
Oh, be so kind as to lend me your fiddle,
And I'll play it everyday, and I'll keep it nice and shiny-O.
It's a poorest day and I stay for a week,
With the stars and the horses and the trout in the creek;
In the evenings he'd teach me an old tune to play,
Sometimes I'd get misty and he'd quietly say:
"That was a tune I heard from my brother Jack,
Before he went to the war and never came back."
Paddy when you die will you lend me your fiddle,
Oh, Paddy if you don't you can go to the devil;
Oh, be so kind as to lend me your fiddle,
And I'll play it everyday, and I'll keep it nice and shiny-O.
Then I went away for a long, long time,
Around the world with a fiddle and a rhyme;
Three years later I came back again,
Neighbours told me Patrick passed away in the spring;
Walked to the meadow pulled up a handful of hay,
From a long ways off I could hear the fiddle play.
Paddy when you die will you lend me your fiddle,
Oh, Paddy if you don't you can go to the devil;
Oh, be so kind as to lend me your fiddle,
And I'll play it everyday, and I'll keep it nice and shiny-O.
Paddy when you die will you lend me your fiddle,
Oh, Paddy if you don't you can go to the devil;
Oh, be so kind as to lend me your fiddle,
And I'll play it everyday, and I'll keep it nice and shiny-O.
