It was down in old Joe's barroom, on a corner by the square;
The drinks were served as usual, and a goddly crowd was there.

On my left stood Joe McKenny, His eyes bloodshot and red,
He gazed at the crowd around him, And these were the words he said:

"As I passed St. James Infirmary, I saw my sweetheart there,
All stretched out on a table, So pale, so cold, so fair."

"Sixteen coal-black horses, Hitched to a rubber-tired hack,
Carried seven girls to the graveyard, Only six of 'em came back."