He was born in poverty in the Irish Free State
A childhood in turmoil, his unfortunate fate
A feral boy with no order in his life
His destiny now sealed and marked "trouble and strife"
His name was Tom Mullins of no fixed abode
A troubled youth, then life on the road
A bear of a man with wild staring eyes
An Irishman with English ties
His shovel like hands bore scars of time
A rebel rousing drinker and no stranger to crime
A true Irish rover who never settled down
In whiskey and beer his demons wouldn't drown
When in his company his family were twitchy
He once had a fight in an incident named "Ritchie"
He would arrive unannounced, drunk and insane
The relations would scatter or hide in vain
Banging on doors and shouting abuse
Disorderly; obnoxious; terrifying; obtuse
"Keep quiet, don't talk, he may go away
Cover your ears and kneel and pray"
He fought the world and usually came second
He then disappeared, he was dead we reckoned
Years went by then word came through
The old timer had passed on, it was confirmed as true
His legend lives on in tales of his past
Let's hope Tom Mullins found peace at last
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