The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #43866 Message #644566
Posted By: GUEST,W.B. Yeats
07-Feb-02 - 11:39 AM
Thread Name: Campsite at Drumcree III
Subject: RE: Campsite at Drumcree III
I say, you chaps ... I thought it was time some fine mellifluous, edificational poetry was declaimed for the multitudes.
Hence this ode, for a dear, dear friend. Now forced, alas, to live at a distance from Grannuaile, from Kitty Mavourneen, from the Sean Bhan Bhocht, from the Star of the Sea, the Gem of the Roe, The Rose in the Heather and The Light Of The World.
He is big, plays guitar In a "céad míle fáilte" bar With a nick-nack-paddy-whack Thinks he's one of us But he's never burnt a bus
Hairy beard on his face Bet he wouldn't stick the pace If he nick-nack-paddy-whack Drank a rake of buck Bet he'd boke the whole lot up
Never sat by the man-made lakes Buckin' purple Tennents down his bake With a nick-nack-paddy-whack Just as I had feared Too busy growin' a ginger beard
He is older than me da Bet he'd fancy my oul' ma With her nick-nack-paddy-whack Wabbly double-chin Big buck teeth and hairy shins
Thinks we care, aye, as if! Give us a bang on thon there spliff With a nick-nack-paddy-whack Bate your bodhrán drum Then ram the bater up your bum