Getting Too Close To My Pot of Gold

Smacked the shalliwag’s hand good and clear He might be my cousin, but not really dear He was getting too close to my golden pot He should have known better, he really ought Hey! The Clurichaun yelled as I slapped his hand. I thought we were cousins, so Irish grand! We are I allowed, but you are way into your cups. It is time to go home, and play hard with your pups. The next thing I knew he’d harnessed the master’s sheep. He was riding them to the night cliff, which was way too sleep. I put down my shoe and ran after him with my hammer But what was that music? I stopped a second to yammer. It was an Irish jig it was. Good and clear from Mountain of Cooley. I knew what it meant, and the dancing began. I became pretty unruly. I harnessed a goat, and ran after my cousin. There’d be pretty girls there, maybe a dozen. A leprechaun knows when his luck is beginning. Maybe I’d meet two fancy faeries who could not stop grinning. The gold long forgotten, I head for the mountain. When I got there my idiot cousin was down in the fountain. I should have let him drown, but my ma would be mad. So I rescued the idiot, so big and so bad. A pretty Irish faerie came flitting up to see. She began flirting and primping. A beautiful day just to be. St. Patrick’s Day was the day we were wed. I had new shoes, made by my cousin Ned. My bride was fancy, pretty, and not a bit old. She I gladly traded for all that stolen gold.