Brother workmen, cease your labour,
Lay your files and hammers by
Listen while a brother neighbour
Sings a cutler’s destiny:

Fare thee well ye factory darlin’s
Fare the well me cruel machine
Men are here to wet their whiskers
Whiskey, Gin and auld Poteen

How upon a good Saint Monday,
Sitting by the smithy fire,
We tell what’s been done o’t Sunday,
And in cheerful mirth conspire.

Fare thee well ye factory darlin’s
Fare the well me cruel machine
Men are here to wet their whiskers
Whiskey, Gin and auld Poteen

Soon I hear the trap-door rise up,
On the ladder stands my wife:
“Damn thee, Jack, I’ll dust thy eyes up,
Thou leads a plaguy drunken life;

Fare thee well ye factory darlin’s
Fare the well me cruel machine
Men are here to wet their whiskers
Whiskey, Gin and auld Poteen

(##### Instrumental – Middle 8 #####)

“Ah, the bright, fat, idle devil
Now I see thy goings on,
Here thou sits all day to revel
Ne’er a stroke o’ work thou’st done.
See thee, look what stays I’ve gotten,
See thee, what a pair o’ shoes;
Gown and petticoat half rotten,
Ne’er a whole stitch in my hose.

Fare thee well ye factory darlin’s
Fare the well me cruel machine
Men are here to wet their whiskers
Whiskey, Gin and auld Poteen

“Pray thee, look here, all the forenoon
Thou’s wasted with thy idle way;
When does t’a mean to get thy sours done?
Thy mester wants ’em in to-day.
Thou knows I hate to broil and quarrel,
But I’ve neither soap nor tea;
Od burn thee, Jack, forsake thy barrel,
Or nevermore thou’st lie wi’ me.”

Fare thee well ye factory darlin’s
Fare the well me cruel machine
Men are here to wet their whiskers
Whiskey, Gin and auld Poteen

Fare thee well ye factory darlin’s
Fare the well me cruel machine
Men are here to wet their whiskers
Whiskey, Gin and auld Poteen