All you young men and maidens come an ’listen to my song,
It is something short and comical, it won’t delay you long.
Go where you will by day or night; the town or country through,
The people cry and wonder what with us they mean to do.

CHORUS
No wonder people grumble at the taxes more and more,
There never was such taxes in Ireland before.

They’re going to tax the farmers, and their horses, carts and ploughs,
They’re going to tax the billygoats, the donkeys, pigs and cows;
They’re going to tax the mutton, and they’re going to tax the beef,
And they’re going to tax the women if they do not try to read.

They will tax the ladies’chignons and their boas, veils and mats,
They’re going to tax the mouse traps and the mousies, cats and rats;
They’ll tax the ladies’ flouncey gowns, their high-heeled boots and stays,
And before the sun begins to shine they’ll tax the bugs and fleas.

They’re going to tax the brandy, ale and whiskey, rum and wine,
They’ll tax the tea and sugar, the tobacco, snuff and pipes;
They’re going to tax the fish that swim and the birds that fly,
An’ they’re going to tax the women who go drinking on the sly.

They’re going to tax all bachelors as heavy as they can,
And they’ll double tax the maiden who are forty-one;
They’ll tax the ground we walk on and the clothes that keep us warm,
And they’re going to tax the childer on the night before they’re born.

They’re going to tax the crutches and they’ll tax the wooden legs,
They’re going to tax the bacon, bread and butter, cheese and eggs;
They’re going to tax old pensioners as heavy as they can,
And they’ll double tax young girls that go looking for a man.

They’ll tax the ladies all that paint and those that walk with men,
They’re going to tax the ducks and geese, and turkeys, cocks and hens;
They’re going to tax the farmers’ boys that work along the ditches,
And they’ll double tax old drunken wives that try to wear the breeches.

They’re going to tax the corn fields, potato gardens too,
They’re going to tax the cabbage plants, the jackdaws and the crows;
They’ll double tax the hobble skirts and table up some laws,
But the devil says he’ll tax them if he gets them in his claws.