As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping,
With a pitcher of milk from the banks of Colraine.
When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled
And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain.
Oh what shall I do now.
Twas looking at you now
Sure sure such a pitcher I'll ne'r see again.
Twas the pride of my dairy
Oh Barney McClary
You're sent as a plague to the girls of Colraine.
I sat down beside her and gently did chide her
That such a misfortune should give her such pain.
A kiss I did give her and before I did leave her
She vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again.
Twas haymaking season
I can't tell the reason
Misfortune does never come singly 'tis plain.
But very soon after
Poor Kitty's disaster
Och never a pitcher was whole in Colraine.