I did a search for these lyrics, didn't find them on Mudcat but got them from a Cork (as in the Irish county & city) discussion site. as composed by Con Fada Ó Drisceoil, popularised by Jimmy Crowley

May the lord upon high who rules the sky look down on our pubs and our bars
For the people therin both women and men they're neglecting their pints and their jars
The crack it is bad, the atmosphere sad; every man has a face like a mule
And all he can do is grab an old cue and start playing the game of pool.

When I was a boy, 'twas always my joy to visit the pub each night
There were arguments, scraps and killings perhaps, and everyone thought he was right.
There were badgers and dogs and men from the bogs and young fellas acting the fool
But now there's no crack for every manjack has his arse in the air playing pool.

To the rural alehouse, after milking the cows, every customer made his way
And there would dwell and drink till they fell, while the fiddles and pipes they did play
The jigs and the reels and the rattling of heels and the polkas and slides were the rule
But now there's no chance of a tune or a dance 'cos everyones playing the oul' pool.

Now this pool, you will find, is a game designed for foolish illiterate louts
You puts in your four bob and press an old knob and a big shower of balls they come out.
They're placed on the table and then if you're able to knock 'em into a hole
More money goes in, you sart over again, and you lose every bob of your dole.

In the Irish Free State all the people are beat from watching and playing this game
In their necks they have cricks that no doctor can fix, and their backs and their shoulders are maimed.
Their arses protrude in a manner most lewd from being hoisted aloft in the air
And their eyeballs are sore and dripping in gore and they act in a manner most queer.

So if you meet an old man whose face it is wan and his eyes have a vacant stare
If his jaw-bone is slack and his head is thrown back, and he can't tell a cob from a mare.
With his nostrils dilated, his brow corrugated, his manners like those of a fool
Then your shirt you can bet that you have just met - a man that's gone mad from pool.