Callaghan's Hotel

There's the same old coaching stable that's been used by Cobb and Co,
And the yard the coaches stood in more than sixty years ago;
And the public, private parlour, where they serve the passing swell,
Was the shoeing forge and smithy of the Callaghan's Hotel.

There's the same old walls and woodwork that our fathers built to last,
And the same old doors and wainscot and the windows of the past
And the same old nooks and corners where the Jim-Jams used to dwell
But the phantoms dance no longer up at Callaghan's Hotel.

There are memories of old days that were red instead of blue
In the time of "Dick the Devil" and those other devils too
But perhaps they went to Heaven and are angels, doing well,
They were always open-hearted up at Callaghan's Hotel.

Then the new chum, broken-hearted, and with boots all broken too,
Got another pair of bluchers, and a quid to see him through
And the old chum got a bottle, who was down and suffering hell
And no tucker-bag went empty out of Callaghan's Hotel.

And I sit and think in sorrow of the nights that I have seen,
When we fought with chairs and bottles for the orange and the green
For the peace of poor old Ireland, till they rang the breakfast bell,
And the honour of Old England, up at Callaghan's Hotel.

There's the same old coaching stable that's been used by Cobb and Co,
And the yard the coaches stood in more than sixty years ago
And the public, private parlour, where they serve the passing swell,
Was the shoeing forge and smithy of the Callaghan's Hotel.