Oh, in eighteen hundred and sixty one,
The Yankee war had just begun,
I put my corduroy breeches on,
Ch: To work upon the rail way,
the railway, I'm weary of the railway,
Oh, poor Paddy works on the railway!
Oh, in eighteen hundred and sixty-two,
My corduroy breeches they were new;
I took my pick with a navvy's crew,
To work upon the railway.
Oh, in eighteen hundred and sixty-three,
I sailed away beyond the sea;
I sailed away to Amerikee,
To work upon the railway.
Oh, in eighteen hundred and sixty-four,
I landed on the American shore;
I had a pickaxe and nothing more,
To work upon the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-six,
I found myself in the hell of a fix,
A-working on the railway, the railway, the railway,
Oh, poor Paddy works on the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-seven,
When Dan O'Connell went to heaven,
He worked upon the railway, the railway, the railway,
Oh, poor Paddy works on the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-eight,
I found myself bound for the Golden Gate,
A-working on the railway, the railway, the railway,
Oh, poor Paddy works on the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-nine,
I passed my time on the Black Ball Line,
A-working on the railway, the railway, the railway,
Oh, poor Paddy works on the railway.