A wee skit on "The Mountains Of Mourne" . (Sorry, Áine … the challenge idea served only as a spark … I'm afraid my imagination took me off thread!)

Ah, Mary the 'Mericky's a wonderful sight
But some of its features would give you a fright
They don't set their horses to run or to draw
They trate them like childer, I tell you, mo gra
I saw one this mornin', it caused me to moan
For they'd only put drawers on the poor horsey's "hone"!
It's a fashion, I tell you, a fad I declare
That will never catch on with the boys of Kildare

When I stepped off the boat as I landed here first
The sweat it was blindin', and dyin' of thirst
I went to an alehouse and called for a beer
And I raised it aloft and I toasted all here
But when I had a sip, I didn't approve
All traces of taste from the beer they'd removed
When I get on home I will think it a trate
To imbibe the concoction from St James's Gate

There's no hairy bacon and no wheaten rings
No big plates of champ and no Tayto nor Kings
No packs of Mikado and no Merry Maids
No packets of Carrolls or red lemonade
When I get on home, I'll be thin as a rake
Do they not know nothin' bout grub for God's sake?!
You could do me a favour, my Mary, mo chroí
And send a big parcel of food over the sea