The Night Before Larry Was Stretched — A Gallows Ballad of Wit, Grit, and Irish Black Humour


The Night Before Larry Was Stretched — A Gallows Ballad of Wit, Grit, and Irish Black Humour

“The Night Before Larry Was Stretched” is one of Ireland’s most unique and compelling traditional ballads. A product of early 19th-century Dublin street balladry, this song stands apart from the usual sorrowful laments of Irish rebel tradition. Instead of weeping over a doomed hero, it gives us Larry — a condemned rogue, full of wit and mischief, facing his final hours with a mix of gallows humour, bravado, and undeniable charm.

The ballad is set in a prison cell on the eve of Larry’s execution. His friends have come to visit, to drink, smoke, and say farewell. What follows is a vivid, humorous, and strangely human portrait of a man who knows the rope is ready for him at dawn — yet refuses to let despair take hold. He jokes, he drinks, he reminisces. Larry isn’t just a prisoner; he’s a symbol of the Irish spirit — defiant even in the face of death.

This version remains true to the tone of the original — full of swagger, swagger, and sorrow wrapped in laughter. While lesser-known today, “The Night Before Larry Was Stretched” was once sung in both high and low places across Ireland, and remains a rare example of gallows balladry where the condemned man is not romanticised, but remembered for his courage and craic.

If you’re new to this song, give it time. There’s richness in its verses, rhythm in its rawness, and beneath the slang and swagger, a real glimpse into the heart of Irish resistance, humour, and fatalism.

Raise a glass to Larry — and to all those who walked toward the scaffold with their heads held high, their boots polished, and one last joke on their lips.



LYRICS

The night before Larry was stretch’d, The boys they all paid him a visit; A bit in their sacks, too, they fetch’d— They sweated their duds till they riz it; For Larry was always the lad, When a friend was condemn’d to the squeezer, But he’d pawn, all the togs that he had, Just to help the poor boy to a sneezer, And moisten his gob ’fore he died. II ‘’Pon my conscience, dear Larry’, says I, ‘I’m sorry to see you in trouble, And your life’s cheerful noggin run dry, And yourself going off like its bubble!’ ‘Hould your tongue in that matter,’ says he; ‘For the neckcloth I don’t care a button, And by this time to-morrow you’ll see Your Larry will be dead as mutton: All for what? ‘Kase his courage was good!’ III The boys they came crowding in fast; They drew their stools close round about him, Six glims round his coffin they placed— He couldn’t be well waked without ’em, I ax’d if he was fit to die, Without having duly repented? Says Larry, ‘That’s all in my eye, And all by the clargy invented, To make a fat bit for themselves. IV Then the cards being called for, they play’d, Till Larry found one of them cheated; Quick he made a hard rap at his head— The lad being easily heated, ‘So ye chates me bekase I’m in grief! O! is that, by the Holy, the rason? Soon I’ll give you to know you d—d thief! That you’re cracking your jokes out of sason, And scuttle your nob with my fist’. V Then in came the priest with his book He spoke him so smooth and so civil; Larry tipp’d him a Kilmainham look, And pitch’d his big wig to the devil. Then raising a little his head, To get a sweet drop of the bottle, And pitiful sighing he said, ‘O! the hemp will be soon round my throttle, And choke my poor windpipe to death!’ VI So mournful these last words he spoke, We all vented our tears in a shower; For my part, I thought my heart broke To see him cut down like a flower! On his travels we watch’d him next day, O, the hangman I thought I could kill him! Not one word did our poor Larry say, Nor chang’d till he came to King William; Ach, my dear! then his colour turned white. VII When he came to the nubbing-cheat, He was tack’d up so neat and so pretty; The rambler jugg’d off from his feet, And he died with his face to the city. He kick’d too, but that was all pride, For soon you might see ’twas all over; And as soon as the nooze was untied, Then at darkey we waked him in clover, And sent him to take a ground-sweat
Location: Ireland

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