An irish ballad

About a maid i'll sing a song
sing rika-ti-tika-ti-tin
about a maid i'll sing a song
who didn't have her family long
not only did she do them wrong
she did everyone of them in, them in
she did everyone of them in.
One morning in a fit of pique
sing rika-ti-tika-ti-tin
one morning in a fit of pique
she drowned her father in the creek
the water tasted bad for a week
and we had to make do with gin, with gin
we had to make do with gin.
Her mother she could never stand
sing rika-ti-tika-ti-tin
her mother she could never stand
and so a cyanide stew she planned
the mother died with a spoon in her hand
and her face in a hideous grin, a grin
her face in a hideous grin.
She set her sister's hair on fire.
sing rika-ti-tika-ti-tin
she set her sister's hair on fire.
and as the smoke and flame rose higher
danced around the funeral pyre
playing a violin, olin,
playing a violin.
She weighted her brother down with stones.
rika-ti-tika-ti-tin
she weighted her brother down with stones
and sent him off to davey jones.
all they ever found were some bones
and occasional pieces of skin, of skin
occasional pieces of skin.
One day when she had nothing to do
rika-ti-tika-ti-tin
one day when she had nothing to do,
she cut her baby brother in two
and served him up as an irish stew
and invited the neighbors in, bors in
invited the neighbors in
And when at last the police came by
rika-ti-tika-ti-tin
and when at last the police came by,
her little pranks she did not deny
do to so she would have had to lie
and lying she knew was a sin, a sin
lying she knew was a sin.
My tragic tale i won't prolong
sing rika-ti-tika-ti-tin
my tragic tale i won't prolong
and if you do not enjoy my song
you've yourselves to blame if it's too long
you should never have let me begin, begin.
you should never have let me begin.