One cold March morning I crossed Old Miller's Moor
with me shepherd dog Clancey, on a distasteful chore.
Me mother sent me out with some soup for Mrs. Fen
who's husband fell on his dikky and couldn't get up again.

St. Patrick lead me to the gates
St. Peter let me in,
For I don't want to see the face of ugly Mrs. Fen
She comes from France
and she wears pants
and smells like fishermen
St. Patrick lead me to the gates,
St. Peter let me in.

I knocked three times and Mrs. Fen opened up the door
a nastier, ugly hag I had never seen before!
She had hairy moles and blackened teeth and weighed 900 pounds
poor Clancey took one look at her and fell dead on the ground!

St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in
For I don't want to see the face of ugly Mrs. Fen
She drinks from kegs, has hairy legs,
and a hideous devil's grin!
St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in!

She took the soup from my hands and bid me do come in,
"..it might make me husband smile, if you paid your respects to him."
So I took off me cap and coat, and walked over to his bed..
He whispered to me, "closer lad.." and this is what he said,

"St. Patrick lead me to the gates St. Peter let me in,
For I can't stand another day, livin with Mrs. Fen!
Me outlook is iffy, I've naryastiffy since me drunken wedding friend!
St. Patrick lead me to the gates St. Peter let me in!"

I felt so sorry for the man, I started in to cry,
I reached into me pocket for me traveler o' Rye
We drank and we cried together till our eyes were red and sore!
We drank so much that we couldn't see her ugly face no more!

St. Patrick lead me to the gates St. Peter let me in
for I don't want to see the face of ugly Mrs. Fen
St. Patrick lead me to the gates St. Peter let me in
for I don't want to see the face of ugly Mrs. Fen..