I am getting near the creamery, it is nearly half past eight,
There is no need to hurry, while others will be late,
The men stood round in circles, in many a face was rage,
In the centre was a know all, you would swear he was a sage.

Ye'r hurling days are over, the worst I've ever seen,
A big hand touched his shoulder, t'was our mighty man Paudeen,
Now Thady, what's your grumbling, you would swear you were the best,
Not a Hurling medal on you, only scafflers on your chest.

Now the inquest still continued, a lot of things were said,
T will tell ye this for nothing, our caps still fit our heads.
From the stands come roars of anger, are ye staying there for the day?
T am turning in the water, yer milk to take away.

While waiting for the back milk, 1 hope there is no delay,
1 have orders from the boss, to rush home to save the hay.
Then 1 saw a big disturbance, by a small lad with a hat,
Whoever stole my covers, I swear to kill that rat.

Well I paid a visit lately, to see the place once more,
My God it's like a graveyard, with nettles around the door.
Beneath the leafy branches, I found rotting sidelace guard
Revving all my memories, of the Old Creamery Yard.