Did you ever go to the County Clare when you were nearly twenty-one
With a crowd of swingin’ culchies in the back of a Volkswagen van
Quarts of lukewarm cider seepin’ out the door
And your flutered face flattened against the mucky German floor
And did you score a peroxide brasser all the way down from Dublin
And get your arse thrown out of the sweetest pub in Doolin
And did you take that gurrier princess to the edge of the Cliffs of Moher
And argue with her over nothin’ then try to talk things over
While you added copiously to the roarin’ black Atlantic
In a manner that was quite distinctly far from bein’ Christ-like
And did you kiss that vestal virgin from sweet Ballymun
‘Til her lips were bruised and she cried out, “oh, sweet divine Jesus, do it again”
Oh Clare, oh Clare, oh sweet Lisdoonvarna
Is this just another yarn or a
Memory set in aspic of the deepest blue
Or something that a culchie prince was always preordained to do?
Saturday, 29 May 2010
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Will there be a tune to go with these lyrics, Larry?
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