A long gap in this thread, but Joe Offer just heard me recite this, so he asked me to post what I know. Here goes.

Years ago, I was exchanging songs with a fellow (I don't remember his name) at the Mariposa Folk Festival (in Toronto), and he recited "Lobster Salad". I fancied it, and he actually bothered to write it out for me. He said he had only heard it once, at an open mike in Newfoundland. He didn't know who composed it.

I have a later note, which says "by John Joe English(?), Newfoundland", but I didn't record where, when, or from whom I got that. I do recall that the source was unsure of the attribution, hence the question mark.

Here's the text, as I have it:

         Lobster Salad

Last night I was invited by an old-time friend of mine
To eat his lobster salad and drink his beer and wine.
We drank a toast unto each other until the hour of two;
Me legs were kind of shaky, and me head was shaky, too,

But anyhow, I staggered home; I think my prayers I said,
But anyway, I was paralyzed when I got into bed.
I dreamt I died; I went to Heaven and met St. Peter at the gate;
And found repentance for me was just a bit too late.

"You go out," St. Peter said; "You know you can't come in.
You know you have to pay for your awful gluttonous sin."
Slowly then, I turned away, tried by grief and shame,
And I saw St. Peter's clerk close by; he wrote "lost" above me name.

Next there came a Hebrew, a friend that I knew well,
And I listened to the story that he had to tell.
"Oh, goodly father Peter, I come to you at last,
And one request I ask of you, if you would let me pass."

"On Earth I had a clothing store, and me clothes were good and strong;
Just to show you this fine overcoat, I'll fetch it along."
"You go out," St. Peter said, "for very well you know,
You have no use for overcoats in the place where you got to go."

Next that came was an old maid, and she was bound to have her say,
And she addressed St. Peter in a pure sort of way.
"Oh, goodly father Peter, I come to you, at last,
And one request I ask of you, if you would let me pass."

"Oh, goodly father Peter, oh, won't you let me in,
And give me a nice little place to myself, away from those naughty men."
"You go out," St. Peter said; "no angels have grey hairs.
You have no sons or daughters, so you cannot come in here."
Slowly the old maid turned away, forever to repine.
Like me and all the rest of us, she centered in the line.

Next that came was Paddy, a son of old Erin's Isle,
And he addressed St. Peter with a loving, gracious smile.
"Ah, 'tis yourself, St. Peter; you're lookin' so nice and sweet.
Open the door and let me in, and show me to me seat."

"You go out," St. Peter said; "your case, like the rest, must be tried.
You have to show a pass for it, before you get inside."
"Oh, hurry up, St. Peter, or for supper I'll be late."
He then took off his old slouch hat and threw it inside the gate.

"Go get that hat," St. Peter said, "you sacrilegious slouch."
Pat ran in, shut the door, and locked St. Peter out.
Then through the keyhole, Paddy cried, "I'm the skipper, now, you see.
I'll give up me crown and the keys to Heaven, if you'll set old Ireland free!"

When I awoke, me head was jammed between the bedpost and the wall;
Me feet were tangled in the sheets; and the lobsters done it all.