He's Paddy on the turnpike, the man with the muddy boots
The boy with the drum and the flute and the gun that never learned to shoot
He's a poet and a chancer, and he rings the freedom bell
To preach the Gospel, half-posessed
In a bushcart bound for Hell
Paddy on the turnpike, and he's tearing through the land
A drink o' rum and a Thompson gun and a Bible in his hand
Don't be talkin' to him, for you'll never be the same
Before you know you'll go and join his patriotic game!
He's Paddy out in Boston with whiskey in his hand
He's a rover, he's a joker, and the son of a highwayman
He's a sailor down in Melbourne and a priest in Bethlehem
He'll give you his all, if you happen to fall, he'll knock you down again!
Paddy on the turnpike, and he's tearing through the land
A drink o' rum and a Thompson gun and a Bible in his hand
Don't be talkin' to him, for you'll never be the same
Before you know you'll go and join his patriotic game!
HEY!
You'll find him in the jungle, teachin' boys the art o' war
You'll hear him in Calcutta reading Kipling at the bar,
He's your man for any season, both feet and his gun,
He'll read your stars and he'll show you scars if you're buyin' in the pub
Forever, 'til tomorrow, good as gold, it's made of brass
You can trust him with your life, or your secrets 'til the last
But you'd better lock your women up, or hide your whiskey neat
For he's Paddy on the turnpike, that you'll never want to meet!
Paddy on the turnpike, and he's tearing through the land
A drink o' rum and a Thompson gun and a Bible in his hand
Don't be talkin' to him, for you'll never be the same
Before you know you'll go and join his patriotic game!
HEY!
WHOO!
YEAH-HEAH-HEAH!
Whoo!