With apologies to whoever wrote this, and they may be a Mudcatter.. I heard someone sing this last week and they emailed me the words, (although I actually asked for the words for something else they sang, however...)

Galway Drawl


At the local folk club, in fairest Barnsley,
One pleasant evening in the month of May,
There stood a singer, of neenah breeding
And his singing fairly took my breath away:

Ch: He had no talent, or sense of rhythm
No ear for music, no none at all….
But he sang for ages, went on for pages,
And he sang them slowly, in a Galway drawl.

He sang of Ireland, as if he'd been there,
He sang of troubles and war and pain.
He stopped eventually, we clapped politely,
So he stood and sang them all again:

He sang of rebels and Irish rovers,
The lakes, Coolphin and Ponchitrain
He sang each note, like an Irish setter
And the tears stood in our eyes with pain.

He kept on singing, we started walking,
Till the road to Dodworth came into view,
Says he to us, 'mates, all back to my place,
Where I've got another book of songs or two: