Poor aul Dicey Reilly she has taken to the sup Poor aul Dicey Reilly she will never give it up It's off each morning to the pub And then she's in for another little drop Ah, the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly
She walks along Fitzgibbon Street with an independent air And then it's down by Summerhill and as the people stare She says it's nearly half past one And it's time I had another little one Ah, the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly
She'll travel far to a dockside bar to have another round And after one or two or three she doesn't feel quite sound And after four she's a bit unstable, after five underneath the table The heart of the rowl is Dicey Riley.
At two, pubs close and out she goes as happy as a lark She'll find a bench to sleep it off down in St Patrick's Park. She'll wake at five feeling in the pink and say "Tis time for another little drink." But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Riley.
Oh they carry her home at twelve o'clock as they do every night They bring her inside, put her on the bed and then turn out the light. Next morning she gets out of bed and looks for a cure for her aching head But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Riley.