I was working in the fields near fair Boston City,
Thinking sadly of Kilkenny – and a girl that’s there;
When a friend came and tould me – late enough and more’s the pity! –
“There’s a letter waitin’ for ye in the postman’s care!”
Oh! My heart was in my mouth, all the while that he was spaking,
For I knew it was from Katy! – she’s the girl that can spell!
And I couldn’t speak for crying, for my heart had night been breaking,
With longing for a word from the girl I love so well.
Oh! I knew it was from Katey. Who could it be but Katey?
The poor girl that loves me well, in sweet Kilkenny town.

Oh! ’twas soon I reached the place, and I thanked them for the trouble
They wor taking with my letter, a-sorting with such care;
And they asked “was it a single?” and I tould them ’twas a double!
For wasn’t it worth twice as much as any letter there?
Then they sorted and they searched, but something seemed the matter
And my heart it stopped beating when I thought that it might be:
Och! Boys, would you believe it? They had gone and lost my letter,
My poor Katey’s letter that had come so far to me

For I knew it was from Katy! – she’s the girl that can spell!
And I couldn’t speak for crying, for my heart had night been breaking,
With longing for a word from the girl I love so well.
Oh! I knew it was from Katey. Who could it be but Katey?
The poor girl that loves me well, in sweet Kilkenny town.

I trimbled like an aspen, but I said, “‘Tis fun you’re making,
Of the poor foolish Paddy, that’s so azy to craze;
Och! Gintlemen, then look again, maybe you wor mistaken,
For letters, as you know, boys, are as like as pase!”
Then they bade me sarch myself, when they saw my deep dejection,
But, och! Who could sarch when the tears blind the sight?
In regard to niver larning to read nor to write,
For I wasn’t cute like Katey, my own darling Katey.

For I knew it was from Katy! – she’s the girl that can spell!
And I couldn’t speak for crying, for my heart had night been breaking,
With longing for a word from the girl I love so well.
Oh! I knew it was from Katey. Who could it be but Katey?
The poor girl that loves me well, in sweet Kilkenny town.

Then they laughed in my face, and they asked me (tho’ in kindness)
What good would letter do to me that I couldn’t understand.
And I answered “Were they cursed with deafness and with blindness,
Would they care less for the clasp of a dear loved hand?”

Oh! the folks that read and write (thought they’re so mighty clever)
See nothin’ but the words, and they’re soon read through;
But Katey’s unread letter would be speaking to me ever
Of the dear love that she bears me, for it shows she is true!
Oh! well I know my Katey, my own darling Katey,
The poor girl that loves me well, in sweet Kilkenny town