Nice one, Chrishty, y'oul bollix.

But shove over sideways there and let a real songwriter show you how it's done.

Hi! Could some hoor get me a bottle and a half-un? My throat's as dry as Mat Talbot's wake!

As I went down to Galway town to seek for recreation
On the seventeenth of August, me mind bein' elevated
If I'd known the crack I'd have soon turned back, as you'll hear in this narration
Some amadán with his bodhran disturbed my relaxation
With me whack-fol-de-doo-fol-de-diddle-ee-aye-dil-ay

I poked my nose in Neachtain's at a quarter past eleven
There was ceol and ól and on my soul I felt I was in heaven
Some sessioneers unpacked their gear, a shower of God's own brethren
For an hour or more the music soared and everything was pleasant
With me whack-fol-de-doo-fol-de-diddle-ee-aye-dil-ay

But I regret the moment yet the drummer made his entry
If I'd have knew the harm he'd do, I'd have posted out a sentry
"Do you mind, squire" your man inquired "If I provide percussion?"
Damn his hide, the hoorin' spide's in need of some concussion
With me whack-fol-de-doo-fol-de-diddle-ee-aye-dil-ay

He battered out at random and he battered right'n loudly
The less he played in rhythm, the more he hammered proudly
He pounded out to jigs and reels and when I stood up to sing-o
Says I "Could someone make a call and get a houl' of Ringo?"
With me whack-fol-de-doo-fol-de-diddle-ee-aye-dil-ay

The sessioneers packed up their gear, they couldn't stand the racket
He'd put them off the Stack of Oats and ruined The Torn Jacket
He'd made a mess of the Cuckoo's Nest and spoiled the Yellow Wattle-o
If I'd strength enough I'd grab his scruff and gladly I would throttle-o
With me whack-fol-de-doo-fol-de-diddle-ee-aye-dil-ay