St. Patrick’s Day

 

The air in this place chokes me like that tie around your head

I want to tell you go to hell, but I just wish you were dead

I don’t mind that you’re drunk as hell and dancing all about

But it’s hard to sing this friggin’ song with my mic jammed in my mouth

 

I just want to crack you when you make a request

And think that stupid face of yours will make us do it next

So can you shout ‘Dirty Old Town’ one more time?

I’m not sure if you like that song or you asked for one of mine

 

And it’s seven drunken unicorns in black velvet bras

Whiskey up my shillelagh and Guinness out my arse

Stan Rogers, Pogues, The Waterboys what am I to do

I sang that song on Paddy’s Day, but I’ll sing it just for you

 

I wasn’t born in Ireland in Halifax or St. John’s

I was conceived and born and bred in the town where I learned these songs

So drink or fight or singalong the choice my friend is yours

Line up on the 17th and sing out ‘til you’re hoarse

 

The girl with the short dress on, she’s drunk not into you

Her button might say kiss me, but her brain says who are you

She likes to piss in the gents, and you think she’s down for fun

But I’ll bet a pint of Guinness she’ll puke before she’s done

 

I won’t  play the ‘Wild Rover’ or ‘Fields of Athenry’

She’s the ‘Star of the County Down’ and I am the b’ye

With me whack-fol-the-daddy-o, too-ri-oo-ri-a

Wake up yer man Tim Finnegan, it’s good old Paddy’s Day

 

Now you’re no Fionn mac Cumhaill, and I’m no leprechaun

Sure if Ronnie Drew’s a Dubliner, you’ll want to hear a song

So Judas do your duty, and bollocks do it right

Take your silver to the bar and order me a pint

© Michael Worthington Music 1997-2014

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