Tom Lehrer - Irish Ballad Chords

 
         
         
         
         
         
X
X
2
3
1
5 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
1
3
4
2
1
10 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
X
1
1
1
5 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
X
3
2
1
2 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
4
3
1
2
X
10 fr
         
         
         
         
         
1
3
4
1
1
1

12 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
X
1
3
4
2
         
         
         
         
         
1
3
4
2
1
1
5 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
4
3
1
2
1
3 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
X
1
2
4
3
         
         
         
         
         
X
X
3
2
1
1
8 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
1
3
3
3
1
10 fr
         
         
         
         
         
4
3
1
1
1
X

10 fr
         
         
         
         
         
3
2
1
1
1
4
         
         
         
         
         
X
3
2
1
3 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
1
2
3
4
1
8 fr
         
         
         
         
         
1
3
4
2
1
1
3 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
1
X
3
4
1
5 fr
         
         
         
         
         
3
2
1
1
1
4
10 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
X
1
3
4
3

12 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
4
3
1
2
1
3 fr
         
         
         
         
         
X
No chord
    
Standard guitar tuning:
E
A
D
G
B
E
No capo
DmAbout a maid, I'll sFing a song Sing Crickety tickety Dmtin DmAbout a maid, I'll sCing a song Who Fdidn't hCave her fDmamily long Not Fonly dCid she Dmdo them Fwrong CShe did every one of themDm in, Them Cin, She Fdid every Cone of them Dmin One morning in a fit of pique, Sing rickety tickety tin One morning in a fit of pique, she drowned her father in the creek The water tasted bad for a week So we had to make do with gin With gin, we had to make do with gin Her mother she could never stand, Sing rickety tickety tin Her mother she could never stand, and so a cyanide soup she planned The mother died with a spoon in her hand, and her face in a hideous grin A grin, her face in a hideous grin She weighted her brother down with stones, Sing rickety tickety tin She weighted her brother down with stones, and sent him off to Davey Jones And all that they ever found were some bones, and occasional pieces of Skin, Of skin, occasional pieces of skin She set her sister's hair on fire, Sing rickety tickety tin She set her sister's hair on fire, and as the smoke and flames rose higher Danced around the funeral pyre, playing the vi-o-lin o-lin, playing the violin One day when she had nothing to do, Sing rickety tickety tin One day when she had nothing to do, she cut her baby brother in two And served him up as an Irish stew, and invited the neighbors in, Bors in, Invited the neighbors in And when at last the police came by, Sing rickety tickety tin And when at last the police came by, her foolish pranks she did not deny For to do so she would have had to lie, and for lying she knew was a sin A sin, lying she knew was a sin My tragic tale I won't prolong, Sing rickety tickety tin My tragic tale I won't prolong, and if you did not enjoy my song You've yourselves to blame if it was too long, you should never have let me begin, Begin, you should never have let me begin From: "Harriet Allen" Date: Fri, 28 Jun 2002 01:27:52 GMT