Текст песни Two Shillelagh O'sullivan (Bing Crosby) с переводом

There’s many a man that rode a horse across the western

Plain There’s never been one like the Irishman

O’Sullivan was his name

He never packed a shooting iron

The need he never felt

With two shillelaghs always hanging there

A’hanging on his belt

O yippee ki yi oh, me bucko

B’gorrah an yippee ki yo

Two Shillelagh O’Sullivan

He’d give any man a go

(Har the shillelagh

You know we call it the Tipperary rifle

You never have to reload it.)

This bronco-busting Irishman

From the heart of Erin’s Isle it was after living peaceful, like

He always wore a smile

But when the smile was leaving him

In a fight he’d

Come unwound Bad cess for any crossing him

They’d wind up on the ground

O yippee ki yi oh, me bucko

B’gorrah an yippee ki yo

Two Shillelagh O’Sullivan

He’d give any man a go

(Why he was so strong was Sullivan

He could put his right hand in his own left pocket

And hold himself out at arm’s

Length. No man could do that

It’s O’Sullivan I’m talking

About. Oh, well he could.)

At throwing the rope for branding calf

He was a mighty man

At throwing his two shillelaghs now

The fastest in the land

T’would be a sad mistake me boys

To reach for a 44

Before you could get the hammer cocked

He’d have you on

The floor

O yippee ki yi oh, me bucko

B’gorrah an yippee ki yo

Two Shillelagh O’Sullivan

He’d give any man a go

(Did you know O’Sullivan played the Irish Harp?

No. Oh, sure, and he did

He put 75 strings on his two shillelaghs

He’d stretch them out 24 feet, and he had four leprechauns

Dancing on them to make the music

Oh, the wonder of it. Sure and he would charm the coyotes out of the hills)

Across the range from morn 'til night

He rode for days

And days

A’fixin' fences here and there

And a picking

Up the strays

A cattle spread he really built

As big as Ireland

Where he could range a million head

And a

Shamrock be his brand

O yippee ki yi oh, me bucko

B’gorrah an yippee ki yo

Two Shillelagh O’Sullivan

He’d give any man a go

A bit of his lip, he back of his hand

And the toe of his shoe to boot

Oh, Two Shillelagh O’Sullivan

(Now if you’re ever riding through the sagebrush wilderness

And you suddenly come upon acres and acres of shamrock sprinkled with stardust

Well, you’ll be after knowing

That you’ve just arrived at the O Sullivan spread

Known has the Lazy Leprachauns

Stop in, won’t you?

Sure, and they’ll give you a belt of Bushmill’s.)

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