Weary Old Folk Tune

I am a weary old folk tune, it's ofttimes you've heard me played Like when orders came one afternoon that we were to march away From Bantry Bay down to Derry Quay from Galway to Dublin Town To the Lowlands of Holland I've well and truly done the rounds Like when I told of three gallant poachers one March evening a plan they made With trap and snare and with finger in their ear, by the gamekeepers were waylaid For the singing of folk songs out of season straightway they were condemned To fourteen years transportay-she-aye-on unto Van Diemen's Land Well as the ship it sped, we shook-ed our eds , and gay-zed with a feeling rare Upon a ship that go-ed in the other direction saying "who are that rabble over there I said, says I "That's the Lancashire Lads, saying whatever shall we do Then before you could say "To me wack fol diddle eye day" they'd nicked the bloody tune By now I totally confus-ed was to whom I did belong This melody to let, no lyrics yet, who'd be an old folk song An identity crisis for seven long years And only after intensive counselling they set me free Only to be 'ad by Martin Carthy, three times on one CD Well I've been 'ad by half the regiment, given pleasure all around the fleet Abus-ed by all and sundry-aye-ay from me nut brown hair to me snow white feet I've been ad by the aristocracy, and by the rank and file It's time I was laid in the unquiet grave, like Lazarus to rise again