They were sittin thar leanin back in their chairs
Near the bar, down at old Murphy’s Pub.
When a tiny old man, with shillelagh in hand
Pushed open the door with his club.
Not the front door, the one back by the moor, The door hadn’t been used for yars,
But he slipped on through with his hat all askew
Then signaled old Murph for a beer.
Now, there was many a town where strangers abound
But not in the town Killyclare.
So word spread fast, until at last
Half the town’s lads were thar.
Twas then doncha know, the old man arose
And tiltin the hat on his head,
“Twas a time for sure, used this club for war,
Now I use it for lore instead.
There be stories told bout Leprechaun Gold
In a pot at the end of the bow,
And the wishes you’d get if it’s me you should catch
For the prize of letting me go.
But me darlins I pray on this very fine day,
Not ta be waistin yur time.
Ya see, all the Gold’s in yur heart doncha know,
As for wishes I’ll tell ya a rhyme.
If ya wish for a miss just for her kiss
And a lassie with which just ta play,
And don’t care for her heart cuz ya think yur quite smart
Then you’ll only have fun for a day.
If ya wish for gold the story’s been told
Then you’ll miss out on silver and bronze.
For the journey’s worth more than a pot of gold ore,
It’s the struggle that makes yur heart strong.”
Then through the door blew a wind from the moor,
As the Leprechaun tapped with his cane.
Then he leapt upside down—on his hat spun around
And whirled out the door whence he came.
But, thar left behind, his shillelagh they'd find,
Now it’s hung on the wall by the bar,
So whenever a day that the story’s relayed
Folks come from near and afar
The shillelagh for sure is now used for lore
And held as a story is told,
And all that are thar, then whisper a prayer
Of thanks for the Leprechaun’s Gold!