Humors Of Whiskey Cifras

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Let your quacks and newspapers be cuttin' their capers,
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And curing the Vapours, the Scratch, and the Gout.
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With their medical potions, their pills and their lotions.
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Upholding their notions their mighty put out.
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Who can tell the true physic of all things pathetic,
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And pitch to the Devil cramp, colic, and spleen?
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Oh, you'll find them I think if you take a big drink
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With your mouth to the brink of a jug of poteen.
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Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature
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For sinkin' your sorrows, and raisin' your joys.
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Oh, what botherations, no bolt to the nations
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Can bring consolation like poteen me boys.
 
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No liquid cosmetic to lovers athletic,
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Or ladies pathetic can bring such a bloom.
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As the sweet, by the powers to the garden of flowers
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Never brought its own powers such a darling perfume.
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And this liquid's so rare, if you're willin' to share,
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To be takin' your hair when its grizzled and dead.
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Oh, the sod has the merit to yield the true spirit,
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So strong it'll shake all the hairs from your head.
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Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature
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For sinkin' yoiur sorrows, and raisin' your joys.
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Oh, since its perfection, no doctor's direction
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Can clense the complexion like poteen me boys.
 
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As a child in my cradle, the nurse from her ladle
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Was swillin' her mouth with the notion of pep.
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When a drop from her bottle fell into me throttle,
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I capered, and scrambled right out of her lap.
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On the floor I lay crawlin', and screamin', and bawlin'
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Till Father and Mother soon came to the fore.
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Conceived I lay dying, all wailing, and crying,
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They found I was only a-cryin' for more.
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Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature
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For sinkin' your sorrows, and raisin' your joys.
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Oh Lord, how I'd chuckle if babes in their truckle
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Could only be suckled on poteen me boys.
 
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Through youthful digressions and times of depression,
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My childhood impression still clung to me mind.
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In school and in college, the basis of knowledge
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I never could gulp 'til with whiskey combined.
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Now as older I'm growin', time's ever bestowin'
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On Erin's potation a flavour so fine,
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And how e're they may lecture on Jove and his nectar,
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Itself is the only true liquid devine.
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Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature
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For sinkin' your sorrows, and raisin' your joys.
A                         E
Oh Lord, it's the right thing for courtin' and fightin'.
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There's naught so exiting as poteen me boys.
 
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Come guess me this riddle: What beats pipes and fiddle?
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What's hotter than mustard, and milder than cream?
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What best wets your whistle? What's clearer than crystal,
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Smoother than honey, and stronger than steam?
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What'll make the dumb talk? What'll make the lame walk -
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The elixir of life and philosopher's stone?
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And what helped Mr. Brunell to dig the Thames tunnel?
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Wasn't it poteen me boys from old Innishowen?
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Then stick to the cratur the best thing in nature
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For sinkin' your sorrows, and raisin' your joys.
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Oh, Lord knows I wonder if lighting and thunder
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Was made from the plunder of poteen me boys.
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