St. Pat's "News?"

I was just send this video from a blogless friend. It's a news story about St. Patrick's Day and a ... well, a leprechan that people say lives in a tree. I can't believe this actually aired on television and that these people are sane.

The best line? "It could be a crackhead."

The Saint Patrick

According to the History channel:

Taken Prisoner By Irish Raiders
It is known that St. Patrick was born in Britain to wealthy parents near the end of the fourth century. He is believed to have died on March 17, around 460 A.D. Although his father was a Christian deacon, it has been suggested that he probably took on the role because of tax incentives and there is no evidence that Patrick came from a particularly religious family. At the age of sixteen, Patrick was taken prisoner by a group of Irish raiders who were attacking his family's estate. They transported him to Ireland where he spent six years in captivity. (There is some dispute over where this captivity took place. Although many believe he was taken to live in Mount Slemish in County Antrim, it is more likely that he was held in County Mayo near Killala.) During this time, he worked as a shepherd, outdoors and away from people. Lonely and afraid, he turned to his religion for solace, becoming a devout Christian. (It is also believed that Patrick first began to dream of converting the Irish people to Christianity during his captivity.)

Guided By Visions
After more than six years as a prisoner, Patrick escaped. According to his writing, a voice—which he believed to be God's—spoke to him in a dream, telling him it was time to leave Ireland.

To do so, Patrick walked nearly 200 miles from County Mayo, where it is believed he was held, to the Irish coast. After escaping to Britain, Patrick reported that he experienced a second revelation—an angel in a dream tells him to return to Ireland as a missionary. Soon after, Patrick began religious training, a course of study that lasted more than fifteen years. After his ordination as a priest, he was sent to Ireland with a dual mission—to minister to Christians already living in Ireland and to begin to convert the Irish. (Interestingly, this mission contradicts the widely held notion that Patrick introduced Christianity to Ireland.)

Bonfires and Crosses
Familiar with the Irish language and culture, Patrick chose to incorporate traditional ritual into his lessons of Christianity instead of attempting to eradicate native Irish beliefs. For instance, he used bonfires to celebrate Easter since the Irish were used to honoring their gods with fire. He also superimposed a sun, a powerful Irish symbol, onto the Christian cross to create what is now called a Celtic cross, so that veneration of the symbol would seem more natural to the Irish. (Although there were a small number of Christians on the island when Patrick arrived, most Irish practiced a nature-based pagan religion. The Irish culture centered around a rich tradition of oral legend and myth. When this is considered, it is no surprise that the story of Patrick's life became exaggerated over the centuries—spinning exciting tales to remember history has always been a part of the Irish way of life. )

Thank you, Saint Patrick.

Saint Patrick's Day continues...

See you later! I'm going searching for these now...


An Irish Blessing

I think this one has to be one of my all-time favorite Irish Blessings:

May those who love us love us;
And those who don't --
May the good Lord turn their hearts;
And if he doesn't --
May he turn their ankles
So we'll know them by their limping

The Shamrock

So what's the story with the shamrock? Ah yes, it's another one of those things that the Christians stole from the godless atheists:

The trefoil or Shamrock, at one time called the "Seamroy", symbolises the cross and blessed trinity. Before the Christian era it was a sacred plant of the Druids of Ireland because its leaves formed a triad.

The well known legend of the Shamrock connects it definitely to St. Patrick and his teaching. Preaching in the open air on the doctrine of the trinity, he is said to have illustrated the existence of the Three in One by plucking a shamrock from the grass growing at his feet and showing it to his congregation. The legend of the shamrock is also connected with that of the banishment of the serpent tribe from Ireland by a tradition that snakes are never seen on trefoil and that it is a remedy against the stings of snakes and scorpions.

The trefoil in Arabia is called shamrakh and was sacred in Iran as an emblem of the Persian triads. The trefoil, as noted above, being a sacred plant among the Druids, and three being a mystical number in the Celtic religion as well as all others, it is probable that St. Patrick must have been aware of the significance of his illustration.

Erin Go Bragh

So you see this phrase all over the place on St. Patty's Day -- well, if you're anywhere around people from Ireland -- but do you know what it actually MEANS?

It means, simply, "Ireland Forever" -- used to generally express allegiance to Ireland!

Gráinne Ní Mháille

Argh, mateys -- why be there no pirates of Ireland? Well, perhaps there be, and ye just didn't know rightly about her. HER? Yes, indeed, the ol Irish lass of Gráinne Ní Mháille may be the most well-known Irish Pirate!

If'n ye not from the blessed isle, ye might know her as Grace O'Malley -- but don't let her hear ye callin her that! Gráinne lived from about 1530 to 1603 and ruled all that she could see (even if she was a bit blind in the one eye there). You can read more about Gráinne Ní Mháille here.

St. Pat's Roundup, Part I

To help you in your celebration of the wonderful holiday of St. Patrick's Day, I present to you other who have already started celebrating today:

Tammi talks about coloring the water in her candles green because she misses Chicago. Every time I think of Chicago and St. Pat's, I ALWAYS think of Tommy Lee Jones -- they can color it green this one day a year, why can't they color it every other day? She also has a couple nice toasts and a pot o gold up! She's also posted some nice 'ol Irish jokes.

William Teach provides some St. Patty's Day advice for you -- good advice, too, I might add, for any other day of the year...

Smokey has a nice joke up, too.

Michelle Malkin tells about pandering to the Irish criminals on this holiday. The only consolation is that the Irish are probably so drunk they won't remember who said what. And yes, I oppose the Irish breaking immigration laws, too.

Cao's got one of my favorite Irish jokes of all time posted. She's also got a couple fine Irish recipes posted. I wish I had time to try them tonight, but maybe tomorrow...

Contagion, that damn scotsman, complains, but agrees to put aside his bastard scottish heritage for the day to help we Irish celebrate a bit.

Jo's Cafe has a few Saint Pat's specials up for grabs.

Blackfive tries to remote blog on his Irish Palm Pilot...

Saint Patrick's Day!

Ah, it's finally here!

Someone tell me again why this isn't a national holiday? Oh, right, everyone can't be Irish. So I'll be at work all day, as I'm sure most will today, despite the great historical significance of this day. I would suggest today that everyone put down their Carlsberg for a day and go get some Guinness.

Yes, I'm aware that you can't get green beer out of Guinness. That's a good thing. Feel free to grab some Bud Light or something for your green beer needs, then switch back to the Guinness. If that stuff is too strong for you (take one sip, anyway -- how do you know you don't like it if you've never tried it?) -- Killian's Irish Red is an approved substitute.

Be thinking and planning now, before you drive home, so you know which supplies to get on the way. Plan now with backup plans in case your primary supplier has run out today, so you know which stores to head to an alternative.

The Men of the West

Another day before Saint Patrick's Day -- and another Irish drinking tune to go along with it. Another great song to sing while drinking, especially that last line of the chorus: "HURRAH for the men of the West."

Have a listen:

When you honor in song and in story
The names of the patriot men,
Whose valor has covered with glory
Full many a mountain and glen,
Forget not the boys of the heather
Who rallied their bravest and best
When Ireland was broken in Wexford
And looked for revenge to the West.

I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!

The hilltops with glory were glowing
'Twas the eve of a bright harvest day,
When the ship we'd been wearily waiting
Sailed into Killala's broad bay.
And over the hills went the slogan
To awaken in every breast
The fire that has never been quenched, boys,
Among the true hearts of the West.

I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!

Killala was ours ere the midnight,
And high over Ballina town
Our banners in triumph were waving
Before the next sun had gone down.
We gathered to speed the good work, boys
The true men from near and afar;
And history can tell how we routed
The redcoats through old Castlebar.

I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!

And pledge me the stout sons of France, boys,
Bold Humbert and all his brave men,
Whose tramp, like the trumpet of battle,
Brought hope to the drooping again.
Since Ireland has caught to her bosom
On many a mountain and hill
The gallants who fell, so they're here, boys,
To cheer us to victory still.

I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!

Though all the bright dreamings we cherished
Went down in disaster and woe,
The spirit of old is still with us
That never would bend to the foe.
And Connaught is ready whenever
The loud rolling tuck of the drum
Rings out to awaken the echoes
And tell us the morning has come.

I give you the gallant old West, boys,
Where rallied our bravest and best
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding;
Hurrah for the men of the West!

A wee bit 'o Irish Wit

Today's celebration of Saint Patrick's Day Half-Month Celebration continues. For those who might be a wee bit tired 'o the Irish singin' (what's wrong with ye?), today we've got some Irish jokes (care of Raven):

Definition of an Irish husband: He hasn't kissed his wife for twenty years, but he will kill any man who does.


Murphy told Quinn that his wife was driving him to drink. Quinn thinks he's very lucky because his own wife makes him walk.


The late Bishop Sheen stated that the reason the Irish fight so often among themselves is that they're always assured of having a worthy opponent.


An American lawyer asked, "Paddy, why is it that whenever you ask an Irishman a question, he answers with another question?" "Who told you that?" asked Paddy.


Question - Why are Irish jokes so simple?
Answer - So the English can understand them.


Reilly went to trial for armed robbery. The jury foreman came out and announced, "Not guilty." "That's grand!" shouted Reilly. "Does that mean I can keep the money?"


Irish lass customer: "Could I be trying on that dress in the window?" Shopkeeper: "I'd prefer that you use the dressing room."


Mrs. Feeney shouted from the kitchen, "Is that you I hear spittin' in the vase on the mantle piece?" "No," said himself, "but I'm gettin' closer all the time."


Q. What do you call an Irishman who knows how to control a wife?
A. A bachelor.


Finnegin: My wife has a terrible habit of staying up 'til two o'clock in the morning. I can't break her of it. Keenan: What on earth is she doin' at that time? Finnegin: Waitin' for me to come home.


Slaney phoned the maternity ward at the hospital. "Quick!" He said. "Send an ambulance, my wife is goin' to have a baby!" "Tell me, is this her first baby?" the intern asked. "No, this is her husband, Kevin, speakin'."


"O'Ryan," asked the druggist, "did that mudpack I gave you improve your wife's appearance?" "It did surely," replied O'Ryan, "but it keeps fallin' off!"


Did you hear about the Irish newlyweds who sat up all night on their honeymoon waiting for their sexual relations to arrive?

Saint Patrick's Holiday

As the official day gets closer, Blackfive provides a commercial that helps show how great a holiday Saint Patrick's Day really is. That's me in the shamrock PJs...or it will be come Friday morning.

I wonder if I could take off work on that day calling it a "religious" holiday...either that or I could just call in drunk...

Whack Fol the Diddle

Ah yes, lads and lassies, it be the time for yet another Irish song for the Saint Patrick's Day Half-Month Celebration. Bein' that it be Friday, I thought a right silly song would be best. I be thinkin' this song was wrong long after the drinkin' started -- and if ye be drinkin' yourself, feel free to sing along:

'll sing you a song of peace and love,
Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.
To the land that reigns all lands above.
Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.

May peace and plenty be her share
Who kept our homes from want and care,
God bless Mother England is our prayer.
Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.

Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.
So we say, Hip Hooray!
Come and listen while we pray.
Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.

When we were savage, fierce and wild
She came like a mother to her child.
She gently raised us from the slime
Kept our hands from hellish crime,
And sent us to Heaven in her own good time.

Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.
So we say, Hip Hooray!
Come and listen while we pray.
Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.

Now our fathers oft were very bad boys.
Guns and pikes are dangerous toys.
From Bearna Baol to Bunker Hill
They made poor England weep her fill,
But ould Brittania loves us still!

Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.
So we say, Hip Hooray!
Come and listen while we pray.
Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.

Now Irishmen, forget the past!
And think of the time that's coming fast.
When we shall all be civilized,
Neat and clean and well-advised.
And won't Mother England be surprised?

Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.
So we say, Hip Hooray!
Come and listen while we pray.
Whack fol the diddle all the di do day.

Streams of Whiskey

Kender, not wanting to be left out of the half-month-long Saint Patrick's Day Half Month Celebration, sends along this group who "play edgy, progressive, Celtic music & song tinged with effervescent Pogue flavored liquid" -- a band called "Murder the Stout."

But with a song title like "Streams of Whiskey," how can the Irish resist?

Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of life's philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that I've a pile
I'll go down to the Chelsea
I'll walk in on my feet
But I'll leave there on my back

Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There's nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
I'll go into a bar and drink
Fifteen pints of beer

Black Velvet Band

Ah, I'm not the only one celebrating this Saint Patrick's Day Half Month. It seems Italian Boudiccia has got an Irish tune she'd like to share to help us all celebrate:

In a neat little town they call Belfast
Apprentice to a trade I was bound
And many's an hour's sweet happiness
Have I spent in this neat little town.
A sad misfortune came over me
Which caused me to stray from the land
Far away from my friends and relations
Betrayed by the black velvet band.

Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulders
Tied up with a black velvet band.

I took a stroll down Broadway
Meaning not long for to stay
When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid
Came a traipsing along the highway
She was both fair and handsome
Her neck it was just like a swans'
And her hair is hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band.

Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulders
Tied up with a black velvet band.

I took a stroll with this pretty fair maid
And the gentleman passing us by
Well I knew she meant the doing of him
By the look in her roguish black eye
A gold watch she took from his pocket
And placed it right into my hand
And the very first thing I said was
Bad 'cess to the black velvet band.

Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulders
Tied up with a black velvet band.

Before the judge and the jury
Next morning I had to appear
And the judge he said to me "Young man
Your case is proven clear"
We'll give you seven years penal servitude
To be spent far away from the land
Far away from your friends and companions
Betrayed by the black velvet band.

Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulders
Tied up with a black velvet band.

Rising of the Moon

Here's a song I've had running through my head all day long -- it's got quite a catch tune. I'm not sure what type of tune this is, but I love it. And be sure when you read it, you roll the "rs" just a little bit on the chorus to add that Irish flavor.

As usual, you can listen to a clip to get you in the mood:

And come tell me Sean O'Farrell tell me why you hurry so
Husha buachaill hush and listen and his cheeks were all a glow
I bare orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

And come tell me Sean O'Farrell where the gath'rin is to be
At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me
One more word for signal token whistle out the marchin' tune
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed warning light
Murmurs rang along the valleys to the banshees lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

All along that singing river that black mass of men was seen
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green
Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

'Tis the rising of the moon, 'tis the rising of the moon
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

Maybe I just really like it for that last line...

Courting in the Kitchen

Here's another tune I heard this morning as I continue to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day Month. Searching for it's origins, all I can find is "traditional" and "classic ballad," etc. I'm not sure where it came from, but it, like most of these songs I'm listing, it just fun to sing -- just imagine swaying back and forth with your friends and really belting out that chorus!

To get you in the singing mood, here's a clip of the tune.

Come single belle and beau, to me now pay attention
And love, I'll plainly show, is the divil's own invention.
For once I fell in love with a damsel most bewitchin'
Miss Henrietta Bell, down in Captain Kelly's kitchen

To my toora loora la, my toora loora laddy
Ri toora loora la, ri toora loora laddy.

At the age of seventeen, I was 'prenticed to a grocer
Not far from Stephen's Green, where Miss Bell for tea would go, sir
Her manners were so free, she set me heart a-twitchin'
She invited me to tea, down in Captain Kelly's kitchen.

Next Sunday bein' the day we were to have the flare-up
I dressed myself quite gay, an' I frizzed and oiled my hair up
The Captain had no wife, he had gone out a-fishin'
So we kicked up high life, below-stairs in the kitchen.

Just as the clock struck six we sat down to the table
She served me tea and cakes --- I ate while I was able,
I ate cakes, drank punch and tea, till my side had got a stitch in
And the hours flew quick away, while coortin' in the kitchen.

With my arms around her waist, I kissed ---she hinted marriage
To the door in dreadful haste came Captain Kelly's carriage!
Her looks told me full well that moment she was wishin'
That I'd get out to Hell, or somewhere far from the kitchen.

She flew up off my knees, full seven feet or higher
And over heads and heels, threw me slap into the fire
My new Repealers coat, that I'd bought from Mrs. Stichen
With a thirty-shilling note, went to blazes in the kitchen.

I grieved to see my duds, all besmeared with smoke and ashes
When a tub of dirty suds, right in my face she dashes.
As I lay on the floor, still the water she kept pitchin'
Till the footman broke the door, and marched into the kitchen.

When the Captain came downstairs, and seen my situation
In spite of all my prayers I was marched off to the station
For me they'd take no bail, tho' to get home I was itchin'
And I had to tell the tale of how I got in the kitchen.

I said she did invite me, but she gave a flat denial
For assault she did indict me, and I was sent for trial.
She swore I robbed the house, in spite of all her screechin'
And I got six months hard, for my coortin' in the kitchen.

The Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe

Ach. This month we're celebrating Saint Patrick's Day on more than just the 17th. Every day I'll tell you about a great Irish tune for celebrating. Todays is "The Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe." While looking up this tune, I did notice some limeys that tried to claim the tune was from England. Well, one quick listen and I'm sure you'll see this is clearly an Irish tune.

So settle in with your Guinness or your Killian's, and sing along with me, will you?

Come all ye lads and lassies and listen to me a while,
And I’ll sing for you a verse or two will cause you all to smile;
It’s all about a young man, and I’m going to tell you now,
How he lately came a-courting of the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe.

Said he, “My pretty fair maid, will you come along with me,
We’ll both go off together, and married we will be;
We’ll join our hands in wedlock bands, I’m speaking to you now,
And I’ll do my best endeavour for the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe.”

This fair and fickle young thing, she knew not what to say,
Her eyes did shine like silver bright and merrily did play;
She said, “Young man, your love subdue, for I am not ready now,
And I’ll spend another season at the foot of the Sweet Brown Knowe.

Said he, “My pretty fair maid, how can you say so,
Look down in yonder valley where my crops do gently grow,
Look down in yonder valley where my horses and my plough
Are at their daily labour for the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe.”

“If they’re at their daily labour, kind sir, it’s not for me,
For I’ve heard of your behaviour, I have, indeed,” she said;
“There is an Inn where you call in, I have heard the people say,
Where you rap and call and pay for all, and go home at the break of day.”

“If I rap and call and pay for all, the money is all my own,
And I’ll never spend your fortune, for I hear you have got none.
You thought you had my poor heart broke in talking with me now,
But I’ll leave you where I found you, at the foot of the Sweet Brown Knowe.”

Bold Thady Quil

Ah, this one 'tis a right good song, rollicking and perfect for drinking along to! Here's a clip of the wonderful soundtrack.

(A continuation of the half-month-long celebration of Saint Patrick's Day -- he's Irish, NOT Scottish, you know).

Ye maids of Dunhallow who're anxious for courting A word of advice I will give unto ye: Proceed to Banteer, to the athletic sporting And hand in your name to the club committee. But do not commence any sketch of your progress till a carriage ye see comin' over the hill, And down through the valleys and glens of Kilcorney With that Muskerry sportsman, the bold Thady Quill

cho: For ramblin', for rovin', for football or courtin'
For drinkin' strong liquor as fast as you fill;
In all your days rovin', you'll find none so jovial
As the Muskerry sportsman, the bold Thady Quill.

Thady was famous in many other places;
At the athletic meeting held out in Cloghroe
He won the long jump without throwing off his braces
Goin' fifty=four feet every sweep he woultd throw.
At the pullin' o' the weight there was a Dublin man foremost
But Thady outreached and exceeded him still
And around the whole field rang the wild ringing chorus
"Here's luck to our hero! the bold Thady Quill."

At the great hurlin' match between Cork and Tipperary
'Twas played in the park by the banks of the Lee
Our own darlin' boys were afraid of being baten,
So they send for bold Thady to Ballinagree. '
He hurled the ball left and right in their faces
And show'd those Tipp'rary boys learnin' and skill
If they came in this way, shure he surely would brain' em
And the papers full of the praise for Thade Quill.

In the year ninety-one before Parnell was taken,
Thade was outrageously breaking the peace
He got a light sentence for causin' commotion,
And six months hard labour for batin' police.
But in spite of coercion he's still agitatin'
Ev'ry drop of his life's blood he's willing to spill,
To gain for old Ireland complete liberation,
"Till then there's no rest for me" says bold Thady Quill

At the Cork Exhibition there was a fair lady,
Whose fortune exceeded a million or more;
But a bad constitution had ruined her completely,
And medical treatment had failed o'er and o'er.
"Oh Mama" said she, I know what'll cure me
And all me diseases most certainly kill,
Give over your doctors and medical treatment,
I'd rather one squeeze outa bold Thady Quill.

Nell Flaherty's Drake

The Saint Patrick's Day Month Celebration continues!

Another 19th century Irish ballad here. There's various rumors surrounding this song and it's influences, all focusing on the various fighting in Dublin, especially the Dublin uprising of 1803. I think this song is a hoot -- just perfect for a Friday afternoon. Another really fun sing-along song -- and if you need to curse anyone without using swear words, there's lots of neat ideas in here!

Song clip for Nell Flaherty's Drake:

Oh my name it is Nell and the truth for to tell
I come from Cootehill which I'll never deny
I had a fine drake and I'd die for his sake
That me grandmother left me and she goin' to die
The dear little fellow his legs they were yellow
He could fly like a swallow or swim like a hake
Till some dirty savage to grease his white cabbage
Most wantonly murdered me beautiful drake

Now his neck it was green almost fit to be seen
He was fit for a queen of the highest degree
His body was white, and it would you delight
He was plump, fat, and heavy and brisk as a bee
He was wholesome and sound, he would weigh twenty pound
And the universe round I would roam for his sake
Bad luck to the robber be he drunk or sober
That murdered Nell Flaherty's beautiful drake

May his spade never dig, may his sow never pig
May each hair in his wig be well trashed with the flail
My his door never latch, may his roof have no thatch
May his turkeys not hatch, may the rats eat his meal
May every old fairy from Cork to Dun Laoghaire
Dip him snug and airy in river or lake
That the eel and the trout they may dine on the snout
Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake

May his pig never grunt, may his cat never hunt
May a ghost ever haunt him the dead of the night
May his hens never lay, may his horse never neigh
May his coat fly away like an old paper kite
That the flies and the fleas may the wretch ever tease
May the piercin' March breeze make him shiver and shake
May a lump of the stick raise the bumps fast and quick
On the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake

Well the only good news that I have to infuse
Is that old Paddy Hughes and young Anthony Blake
Also Johnny Dwyer and Corney Maguire
They each have a grandson of my darlin' drake
May treasure have dozens of nephews and cousins
And one I must get or me heart it will break
For to set me mind easy or else I'll run crazy
So ends the whole song of Nell Flaherty's drake

Whiskey you're the Devil

Continuing my month-long celebration of Saint Patty's Day, today I present another classic and wonderful Irish Drinking Song, "Whiskey you're the devil."

I'm not sure how much Whiskey drinkers will appreciate this song, but I'm willing to bet they won't deny's another great sing-along tune, too.

Amazon has a short clip so you can hear the tune if you don't know it:

Whiskey you're the divil, you're leading me astray
Over hills and mountains and to Amerikay
You're sweeter, stronger, dacenter
You're spunkier than tay
Oh whiskey you're me darlin' drunk or sober.

Oh, now brave boys are off for
marching off to Portugal and Spain
Drums are beating, banners flying
The divil a home we'll come tonight
Oh, love fare thee well
With me tiddery idle loodle lum a da
Me tiddery idle loodle lum a da
Me right fol torral addee o
There's whiskey in the jar.

Said the mother do not wrong me
Don't take me daughter from me
For if you do I will torment you
And after death me ghost will haunt you
Love fare thee well
With me tiddery idle loodle lum a da
Me tiddery idle loodle lum a da
Me right fol torral addee o
There's whiskey in the jar.

Now the French are fightin' bouldly
Men are dying hot and couldly
Give every man his flask of powder
His firelock on his shoulder,
Love fare thee well
With me tiddelly idle loodle lum a da
Me tiddery idle loodle lum a da
Me right fol torral addee o
There's whiskey in the jar.

Saint Patrick's Month

How come Saint Patrick's Day only gets one day? How come there's not a whole season dedicated to this fun holiday? Come on, who dislikes green? Heck, Bush and Ford are all over "green" these days. And Saint Patrick was a nice guy (that's the whole "Saint" part in his title) -- although I'm sure, hated by anyone anti-religion.

So, I think we should celebrate the entire first half of the month of March, instead of just one day. So I shall -- with much singing!

Today, I'll give you the words to a really neat Irish tune. It's short, but very powerful. It was written in the early 1800s Thomas Moore. It's called "The Minstrel Boy." I love this song, have a neat rendition on CD, and sing along at the top of my voice:

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you will find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;"
Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!"

If you want to sing along, you can hear the midi tune as well.

Interestingly enough, when looking for the lyrics online so I didn't have to type them, I found The Minstrel Boy blog! Weird, huh?

And if I could sing a little better, I'd sing this at the Renaissance Festival this year...