Oh, the Penshaw peeler went one night
On duty and patrolling
He spied a goat upon the road
And took him for a-strolling

Bayonet fixed, he sallied forth
And he caught him by the wizzen
There swore out a mighty oath
He's send him off to prison

Have mercy, sir, the goat replied
And let me tell my story
I am no rogue, no ribbon man
No cockey, Whig, or Tory

I'm innocent of any crime,
Of petty or high treason
For my tribe is active at this time
It is the mating season.

"Do not complain," the peeler said
But give your tongue a bridle
You're absent from your dwelling place,
Disorderly, and idle

Your hoary locks will not prevail
Nor your sublime oration
For the penal laws will you transport
On your own information

No penal laws have I transgressed
By deed or combination
It's true I have no place of rest,
No home, or habitation

But Penshaw is my dwelling place
Where I was bread and borne-o
I'm of an honest working race
That's all the trade I've learned-o

I wager, sir, that you are drunk
On whiskey, rum, and brandy
Or you wouldn't have such gallant spunk
To be so bold and manly

You readily would let me pass
If I had money handy
I'd take you to the parting glass
Its then I'd be the dandy