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Poem	There's a dashin' sort of boy Which they call his Party's Joy, And his smile-that-won't-come-off would quite disarm ye; And he played the leadin' hand In the Helter-Skelter Band, Known as Jimmy Dooley's Circulating Army. When the rank and file they found, They were marchin' round and round, They one and all began to act unruly; And the letter that he wrote, Sure it got the Labor goat, So we set ourselves to deal with Captain Dooley. Chorus Whill-il-loo. High Ho! We'll all be there you know, The repartees and ructions they will charm ye; And we'll see which we prefer, Is it Dooley or McGirr, To take command of Jimmy Dooley's Army. When we're marchin' to the poll, And we're under his control, We sometimes feel a trifle unsalubrious; For by one and all 'twas said That if our objective's Red, To call it claret-coloured makes us dubious. Sure, the Fat Men one fine day They chanced to come our way, And we thought that we should bate them well and trooly; But we let them pass us by And not half a brick did fly, 'Twas then we tore our tickets up on Dooley. Chorus Whill-il-loo. High Ho! We'll all be there you know, The repartees and ructions they will charm ye; And we'll see which we prefer, Is it Dooley or McGirr, To take command of Jimmy Dooley's Army.
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