It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

WHO THREW THE OVERALLS IN MISTRESS MURPHY'S CHOWDER?
Mistress Murphy gave a party just about a week ago,
Everything was plentiful, the Murphys, they're not slow.
They treated us like gentlemen; we tried to act the same
And only for what happened, well it was an awful shame.
Wkhen Mrs. Murphy dished the chowder out she fainted on the spot;
She found a pair of overalls at the bottom of the pot.
Tim Nolan he got ripping mad, his eyes were bulging out,
He jumped upon the piano and loudly he did shout.

cho: "Who threw the overalls in Mistress Murphy's chowder?"
Nobody spoke so he shouted all the louder.
It's an Irish trick that's true, but I can lick the Mick that threw
The overalls in Mistress Murphy's chowder.

They dragged the pants from out the soup and laid them on the floor;
Each man swore upon his life, he'd ne'er seen them before.
They were plastered up with mortar and were worn out at the knee,
They had their many ups and downs as we could plainly see.
And when Mrs. Murphy she came-to she 'gan to cry and pout,
She had them in the wash that day and forgot to take them out.
Tim Nolan, he excused himself for what he said that night,
So we put music to the words and sang with all our might.

chorus:

It's St. Patrick's Month

and here's a joke for you...

As soon as she had finished convent school, a bright young girl named Lena shook the dust of Ireland off her shoes and made her way to New York where before long, she became a successful performer in show business. Eventually she returned to her home town for a visit and on a Saturday night went to confession in the church, which she had always attended as a child. In the confessional Father Sullivan recognized her and began asking her about her work. She explained that she was an acrobatic dancer, and he wanted to know what that meant. She said she would be happy to show him the kind of thing she did on stage. She stepped out of the confessional and within sight of Father Sullivan, she went into a series of cartwheels, leaping splits, handsprings and backflips. Kneeling near the confessional, waiting their turn, were two middle-aged ladies. They witnessed Lena's acrobatics with wide eyes, and one said to the other: "Will you just look at the penance Father Sullivan is givin' out this night, and me without me bloomers on!"

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

The Rose of Tralee
The pale moon was rising above the green mountain
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea
When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain
That stands in beautiful vale of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer
Yet, 'twas not her beauty alone that won me
Oh no! 'Twas the the truth in her eye ever beaming
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading
And Mary all smiling was listening to me
The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.
Though lovely and fair as the rose of the summer
Yet, 'twas not her beauty alone that won me
Oh no! 'Twas the the truth in her eye ever beaming
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCueMl54FdQ

IF YOU'RE IRISH COME INTO THE PARLOR

In sweet Lim'rick Town, they say,
Lived a chap named Patrick John MoIIoy.
Once he sailed to U.S.A.
His luck in foreign parts he thought he'd try.
Now he's made his name, and is a wealthy man,
He put a bit away for a rainy day;
So if you gaze upon
The house of Patrick John,
You'll find a notice that goes on to say:

Chorus:
If you're Irish come into the parlour,
There's a welcome there for you;
If your name is Timothy or Pat,
So long as you come from Ireland,
There's a welcome on the mat,
If You come from the Mountains of Mourne,
Or Killarney's lakes so blue,
We'll sing you a song and we'll make a fuss,
Whoever you are you are one of us,
If you're Irish, this is the place for you!

Patrick loved the girl he wed,
But he could not stand his Ma-n-aw,
Once with joy he turned quite red,
When she got into trouble thro' her jaw.
Six police they had to take her to the Court,
She was informed a month she would have to do,
So Patrick quickly wrote
Up to the Judge a note
Explaining, "Sir, I'm much obliged to you!"

It's St. Patrick's Month

and here's a joke for you...

"Why do you Irish always answer a question with a question?" asked President Franklin D. Roosevelt. "Do we now?" came New York Mayor Al Smith's reply.

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

Wild Colonial Boy

There was a wild colonial boy. Jack Duggan was his name.
He was born and bred in Ireland In a town called Castlemane.
He was his father's only son; His mother's pride and joy.
And dearly did his parents love The wild colonial boy.

At the early age of sixteen years He left his native home,
And to Australia's sunny shores He was inclined to roam.
He robbed the wealthy squireen. All arms he did destroy.
A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy.

One morning on the prairie, as Jack he rode along
A-listening to the mocking bird, a-singing a cheerful song
Up stepped a band of troopers: Kelly, Davis and Fitzroy
They all set out to capture him, the wild colonial boy

Surrender now, Jack Duggan, for you see we're three to one
Surrender in the King's high name, you are a plundering son
Jack drew two pistols from his belt, he proudly waved them high
I'll fight, but not surrender, said the wild colonial boy

He fired a shot at Kelly, which brought him to the ground
And turning round to Davis, he recieved a fatal wound
A bullet pierced his proud young heart, from the pistol of Fitzroy
And that was how they captured him, the wild colonial boy

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

CIGARETTES, WHISKEY AND WILD WILD WOMEN

cho: Cigarettes, whiskey and wild wild women
They'll drive you crazy, they'll drive you insane;
Cigarettes, whiskey and wild wild women
They'll drive you crazy, they'll drive you insane;

Once I was happy and had a good wife
I had enough money to last me for life
Then I met with a gal and we went on a spree
She taught me smokin' and drinkin' whiskee
(CHORUS)

Cigarettes are a blight on the whole human race
A man is a monley with one in his face;
Take warning dear friend, take warning dear brother
A fire's on one end, a fools on the t'other.
(CHORUS)

And now good people, I'm broken with faith
The lines on my face make a well written page
I'm weavin' this story -- how sadly but true
On women and whiskey and what they can do
(CHORUS)

Wild the cross at the head of my grave
For women and whiskey here lies a poor slave.
Take warnin' poor stranger, take warnin' dear friend
In wide clear letters this tale of my end.
(CHORUS)

recorded long ago by Red Nichols and the Natural Seven RG

It's St. Patrick's Month

and here's a joke for you...

Q. What is Irish diplomacy?
A. It's the ability to tell a man to go to hell.
So that he will look forward to making the trip

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

Danny Boy

Oh Danny boy, the pipes,
the pipes are calling
From glen to glen,
and down the mountain side

The summer's gone,
and all the flowers are falling
'Tis you, 'tis you
must go and I must bide

But come ye back
when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed
and white with snow

And I'll be here
in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy,
I love you so

But if you come,
and all the flowers are falling
And I am dead,
as dead I may well be

You'll come and find
the place where I am lying
And kneel and say
an "Ave" there for me

And I will hear,
though soft your tread above me
And o'er my grave
will warmer sweeter be

And you will bend
and tell me that you love me
And I will sleep
in peace until you come to me

But if I live
and should you die for Ireland
Let not your dying thoughts
be just of me

But say a prayer to God
for our dearest Island
I know He'll hear
and help to set her free

And I will take your pike
and place my dearest
And strike a blow,
though weak the blow may be

Twill help the cause
to which your heart was nearest
Oh Danny Boy, Oh, Danny boy
I love you so.

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

MAIDS WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG NEVER WED AN OLD MAN

An old man came courting me
Hey do a dority
An old man came courting me
Me being young
An old man came courting me
All for to marry me
Maids when you're young never wed an old man

For he's got no faloodorum, fadidledo doorum
For he's got no faloodoorum, fadidleday
He's got no faloorum, he's lost his ding doorum
So maids when you're young, never wed an old man

Now when we went to the church, hey do a dority
When we went to the church, me being young
When we went to the church, he left me in the lurch
Maids when you're young, never wed an old man
Now when we went to our bed, hey do a dority
Now when we went to our bed, me being young
When we went to our bed, he neither done nor said
Maids when you're young never wed an old man

Now when he went to sleep, hey do a dority
Now when we went to sleep, me being young
When we went to sleep, out of bed I did creep
Into the arms of a handsome young man

And I found his falodoorum, fa didle dodoorum
I found his faloodoorum, fa didle all day
I found his falodoorum and he got my dingdoorum
so maids when you're young never wed an old man