~~ 469 ~~

~~~ Mary ~~~

Young Mary comes home to her mother
And cried. "Oh my poor mother dear,
I've been out with the boys drinkin' whisky
And I'm pregnant, I'm sure, that I fear".

"We started just drinkin' plain singles
Then, it 'twas doubles and triple's", she cried
"Then we started to drink from the bottle,
Until we was totally fried".

"I got hot, then removed my attire,
And the others, did the same just as I.
And we started to play hide the sausage
But we stopped, when our priest he came by".

 He told us to dress and be decent,
And to stop or we'd all go to hell.
"But I fear, dear mother, that I'm pregnant"
Mary cried as her tears they did swell.

"Just wait till you hear from your father"
Her poor, dear old mother did scream.
"You'll wish that you never drunk whisky
And those games that you played were a dream".

When her father got home he was livid,
He ranted and slammed all the doors,
And he said as he yelled at poor Mary,
"JUST BLOODY WELL MAKE SURE IT'S YOURS".

©July 1, 2001

~~ 470 ~~

~~~~ Patrick ~~~

Patrick came home from the brewery,
Where he worked as a tester you see.
He'd test all the whisky and beer,
And get drunk every day just for free.

He started each day in the morning,
At nine every day on the dot.
He'd be pickled by ten in the evenin',
After testing each vat that they got.

He was one of those many vat testers,
That was held with the highest esteem.
And to have a position like Patrick's,
Was every ones ultimate dream.

Patrick would walk every morning,
To that brewery built high on the hill.
Then, he'd roll back down home every evenin',
After paddy had gotten his fill.

Now, Mary that poor wife of Patrick's
His loving and de-voted spouse,
Got tired of that job of her Patrick's,
And threaten, to throw him right out of their house.

So Patrick applied to the brewer,
To change all his hours you see.
So Patrick would always be sober,
When he came home for his tea.

His Mary was full of excitement,
When Patrick rushed in through the door.
To tell his sweet spouse, darlin' Mary,
He'd be workin' from eight until to four.

But due to poor Patrick's affliction,
Of sleeping at night like the dead.
Poor Mary she had lots of trouble,
Of getting him out of their bed.

So Mary she had an idea,
And alarm clock will do me just fine.
So she set it for seven to wake Patrick,
To get him to work right on time.

But Patrick he whispered to Mary,
"I just can't understand it my dear.
Why set that alarm clock for seven
When there's only just two of us here?"

©July 1. 2001

~~~ 471 ~~

~~~ Patrick and Michael and Mary ~~~

The greenest of places is Ireland,
And love flourishes there every day.
Here's a story 'bout three Irish people,
Three lovers, I s'pose you could say.

Patrick he worked in a brewery,
And Michael did nothing but think,
And Mary she was the young barmaid,
Where Patrick and Michael would drink.

Now, Patrick and Michael loved Mary,
They'd been smitten, by wee cupids darts,
And they'd promised to love her forever,
With both of their sweet Irish hearts.

They wooed her with chocolates and flowers,
And brought whisky for her dear old dad,
And they promised her mother they'd marry,
If Mary would give them her hand.

The three of them went out together,
To dances and parties to boast,
And Patrick would argue with Michael,
As to who did love Mary the most.

They started to drinkin' and fightin',
Over sweet little Mary's hand,
The ruckus could be heard in Australia,
And Mary did not understand.

'Cos, Mary she loved only Patrick,
She loved him as much as could be.
So she told that sad tale unto Michael,
But poor Michael he just couldn't see.

So she sat Michael down at her table,
And said to him, "Sweet Michael Dear,
I don't love you; I can't bloody stand you,
So please get the fuck outa' here".

©July 2, 2001

~~ 472 ~~

~~~ Patrick and Mary ~~~

Patrick he married sweet Mary,
He loved her with all of his heart,
And he promised to her as they married,
To keep her, and never to part.

They moved to a cottage in Dublin,
And Mary kept workin' you see-
Pullin' beer at the old local hotel,
And Patrick stayed home cookin' tea.

There wasn't no work there for Patrick,
'Cos brewing was all Patrick knew,
And the brewery's in Dublin were full up,
And there was nothin' for Patrick to do.

So, he stayed home to keep Mary happy,
Buy washin' and scrubbin' the floors.
But poor Patrick's heart wasn't in it,
And he wished he was home on the moors.

Soon Patrick he got kinda' tired,
Of stayin' home makin' the bed.
So he started to visit that hotel,
And started drinkin' and fightin' instead.

Now Mary she had a bad temper,
And started to scream and to shout.
And banned him from drinkin' his beer,
His whisky, his rum and his stout.

That's when those things, they got nasty,
He told Mary, he just didn't care,
And she could stick her old pub and her marriage,
He was leavin' and weren't stayin' here.

Poor Mary she broke down in tears,
And pulled her long hair as she said.
"If I'd known you were such a bastard,
I'd of married poor Michael instead".

©July 2,2001

~~ 473 ~~

~~~ Poor, Poor Sweet Mary ~~~

Patrick went home to his mother,
Since Mary had thrown him out.
He was glad to have peace and have quiet,
After hearing his sweet Mary shout.

His mother said, "Patrick me darlin',
What ever has bought you back home,
I thought you was in Dublin with Mary,
Well you was, when I spoke on the phone?"

So Patrick replied to his mother,
"O' mother, o' mother me dear,
I just couldn't live there with Mary,
That's why, I have come back home here".

"You cannot stay here", cried his mother,
"'Cos there's not enough room don't you see.
And you don't have a job, you're not workin'
So how can you pay for your tea?"

"But mother dear mother", Cried Patrick,
What else in the world would I do,
'Cos Mary she yells like a wharfie,
And she makes me all sad and all blue?"

"You'd better go back to your Mary",
Said mother, "Back to that sweet so and so.
Just listen to your dear old mother
And get off your backside and go".

"Tell her your gonna' forgive her,
For all of those faults that she had.
And she'd better behave like a good wife,
Or she'll be the one that is sad".

So Patrick went home to his Mary,
To find Michael asleep on the floor.
Patrick shook him and woke him completely,
And threw straight out of the door.

Then Patrick went round to that hotel,
Where Mary she worked 'hind the bar.
To hear that sad tale of sweet Mary,
Of how she got stuck in her car.

It seems that, that silly fool Michael,
Had took Mary to work for a shout.
And it seems that he locked that poor Mary,
In the car and she couldn't get out.

And the weather was up in the forties,
And the keys they had dropped on floor.
And poor Mary she just suffocated,
'Cos Michael; couldn't open the door.

Now Patrick is left in a quandary,
As he walks around town with a frown.
And he wonders why sweet darlin' Mary,
Didn't, just wind all the windows right down.

©July 3, 2001

~~ 474 ~~

~~~ The Loss of that Sweet Darlin' Mary ~~~

Poor Patrick was so devastated,
At the loss of sweet Mary his wife.
And he couldn't believe that sad story,
How Mary had lost her young life.

A priest he said words at her grave side,
He said, " Dear God just how could it be.
That you sat in that car for so long dear,
And didn't know how to get free."

Then the bulk of that whole congregation,
Looked down and wept at their loss-
Of sweet young and poor darlin' Mary,
Who is now in the arms of her boss.

Poor Patrick he couldn't contain it,
His grief, I am talkin' 'bout here.
So he called on that whole congregation,
To a wake and to oddles of beer.

They toasted to sweet Mary's passing,
And said what a beauty she'd been.
Then Michael broke down and he told them,
She was the prettiest girl that he'd seen.

Now, Patrick he got kinda' cranky,
And he started to scream and to shout.
Then he grabbed Michael under the collar,
And promptly knocked poor Michael out.

Then all of that crowd started fightin',
And to punchin' and kickin' non stop,
Till the old priest he yelled out for quiet,
Or he'd send out and call for a cop.

Then every one froze just like statue's,
And Michael got up off that floor.
As that ghostly white figure of Mary,
Came floating right through their front door.

She scream and she yelled out at Patrick
And asked why he had left her, then said.
"Look at me now Patrick darlin',
I'm stiff and I'm white and I'm dead."

"You left me alone with that Michael,
And you went runnin' home to your da'.
And you let that dumb fool of a Michael
Let me die locked in a car."

Patrick he pleaded to Mary,
"You had the keys to that car", Patrick cried.
"I know", Said sweet Mary to Patrick,
"But the lock it was on the outside."

©July 4, 2001

~~ 475 ~~

~~~ The Passing of Patrick ~~~

Patrick went home to his mother,
And left his poor sweetheart behind.
Mary was buried in Dublin,
And Patrick was sure she won't mind.

He shed a few tears on that journey,
For that girl he had left in the ground.
She'll remain in his heart there forever,
When he hears her sweet name and its sound.

Patrick, has got his job back at the brewery,
Sampling vast droplets of beer.
But Patrick he's never got over,
The loss of his sweet Mary dear.

He heads off to work every morning,
Exactly at quarter to eight,
'Cos Mary had made sure that Patrick,
Would never go off to work late.

The town set their clocks by his rambling's,
For their breakfast's and dinner's to dine.
And when he went home of an evening,
Their clocks and the church bells would chime.

Poor Patrick just drunk and kept drinking,
He took blame for Mary's demise.
And the town couldn't sleep of an evening,
For his howls and his re-peated cries.

One Sat'day a funny thing happened,
Poor Patrick fell into a vat.
They said he'd been leaning right over,
To try and retrieve his old hat.

Some say that he drowned that first instant,
But others they did not agree.
'Cos, they reckon that dear old Patrick,
Got out twenty times for a pee.

©July 4, 2001

~~ 476 ~~

~~~ The Re-union of Patrick and Mary ~~~

Patrick he floated to heaven,
Up to where Mary should be.
He rose through the ground and his tomb-stone,
And up through the branches of trees.

He was met at the gate by St. Peter,
Who asked him his name and his make.
He said he was Irish and Patrick,
And Mary was holding his stake.

Those gates they were opened for Patrick,
And St. Peter said, "Your welcome here,
But remember please Patrick your manners,
And don't you bring in any beer."

"Your Mary she waits by that fountain,
To show you the place you're to be.
But remember please Patrick no beer,
Then everything else here is free."

When Patrick he spotted sweet Mary,
His heart it just stopped, missed a beat.
And he asked his forgiveness of Mary,
As he fell to the ground at her feet.

Mary forgave dearest Patrick,
And she knew that it needn't be said.
"But, what's the use of forgiving each other,
If we're both up in heaven and dead?"

"'Cos you can't hide your sausage in heaven,
Those games have been totally banned.
Sex is a thing of the past dear,
And you can't even use your own hand."

"But there's a lot to be said for old Satan,
And that place down below that he dwells.
You're aloud to have sex, beer and biscuits,
So why do that call that place hell?"

©July 4, 2001

~~ 477 ~~

~~~ The McGee's and Mallone's ~~~

Patrick McGee had one wonky knee,
It wobbled about all the time,
Some say he was crippled,
But I think that he tippled
Too much fortified wine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His big brother Hector became an inspector.
Of pigs and cattle and sheep,
And of buckets and shoes,
And rats in the zoo
And why the horns on the cars they go beep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael McGee he tried to build trees,
Out of branches and leaves and from wood,
To the peoples he cried,
As they walked by
"I tried 'cos I thought that I could."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mary Mallone called Pat on the phone,
To say that their cat it was dead,
Her Patrick said dear,
"Don't shed a tear
We'll eat it for breakfast instead."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shamus Mallone was kinda' prone,
To drink too much whisky and stout,
He'd always get full,
And roar like a bull
"Drink up me boys it's my shout."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shamus's wife told him of the strife,
If he didn't stop spending their dough,
If he spends like galore,
At the pub any more
She told him he'd just have to go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Mallone and McGee got married you see,
That's what they said that they did,
But to our surprise,
Right in front of our eyes
Arrived a seven pound kid.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We had our suspicions about that fast mission,
Why McGee and Mallone they had wed,
But the swell of her belly,
It gave us the tally
Of the hours that he spent in her bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
© July 6, 2001

~~ 479 ~~

~~~ Kathleen O'Savage ~~~

Kathleen O'Savage,
Grew all of her cabbage,
On the top of a hill all in rows.
And when they were ripe,
She would squeal with delight,
And pull them all out with her toes.

Then, she'd get her horse,
The draught sort of course,
To carry them over the hills.
She would sell them in town,
For just half a crown,
That's how that she paid all her bills.

With what was left over,
She would boil up with clover,
With six mussels, but, only one clam.
She would stew it all night,
Until it was right,
Then she'd bottled it up into jam.

Her jams they sold great,
At local church fete's,
And she won prizes at each local show.
And most people inquired,
Of how she inspired,
To make all her cabbages grow.

She told them her trick,
Of how they grow quick,
"The secret was all in the prayin'.
So you'd better take heed,
When your sowin' your seed,
And be listenin' to what I be sayin'".

"Just don't say your prayers,
With any old care.
Dir-rect it to Father McGee.
He's the priest with the most,
Like the son and the ghost,
And he'll visit your home, just for free".

"He, leaves his shoes on the floor,
At your front door,
As you welcome him to come on in,
And, if you treat him right,
He will spend the whole night,
And tell you it isn't a sin".

Father McGee,
That local priest he,
Mentioned on Sunday at mass.
That those jams of Kathleen's,
Were fit for a Queen,
And to fill up that plate with some cash.

As the years the went by,
The town's folk they cried,
That something was not honky-dory.
'Cos all of the prizes,
And cash of all sizes,
All went to dear Kathleen, by glory.

But, poor Kathleen knew,
That, she was in the poo,
With those people that lived in that town.
'Cos, when they walked by,
They never said hi!
They just gave, a sort of a frown.

And they moaned to that priest,
Who could not care in the least,
If Kathleen was god or the pon-tiff.
And those towns folk they said,
They wished she was dead,
Tucked up in a box nice and stiff.

Then Kathleen got wind,
That she probably had sinned,
And she and that priest they were through.
So, Father McGee,
He absconded with she,
With the plate and the church money too.

Now, poor Kathleen O'Savage,
Is back with her cabbage,
And Father McGee's there as well.
And they spend all the time,
In the mud and the grime,
Making cabbage's jam that they sell.

So, If you ever walk by,
You'll hear them both cry,
Of the pain that they had to go through.
And they'll invite you inside,
For a plate baked or fried,
Of the cabbage's jam that they've stewed.

©July 15, 2001