Ireland the Land of Ire
As a boy I walked the town, near knowing everyone
The Sun it shone all Summer long I revelled in the fun
With relatives and friends we'd play, 'til darkness sought us out
Then caring aunts would hunt us home as cousins turn and pout
Up again at cock-crow, break fast then out the door
And running, never walking, the games to play once more
Hide and seek, then rounders, allies, maybe skipping
On a very rare occasion we'd get to go day tripping
We'd fight and cry and laugh and sigh, depending on the mood
Occasionally stopping for the odd morsel of food
Bread and jam, most times homemade, we'd sit out in the sun
At tea time chips in paper bags enjoyed by everyone
Seldom sick, though sometimes cuts and bruises, proudly, showing
Worn with pride a bandage or a cast, all signed and glowing
A fight sometimes would damp the mood, 'til hands would then be shook
An hour later Truce would break, by either ones, left hook
An interest in pressing things, that adults talk about
A European Union? What's all the fuss about?
With placards made, downtown we made, to EU we'll vote "NO"
A pound a pound would soon be paid for steak, or so we're told
The years rolled on the Eighties came the work it all dried up
So overseas we had to go, to fill our working cup
Though work was hard and times were tough your name it soon was known
The toughest times for me at least was working for your own
The Naughties came and chaos reigned, the inmates at the ZOO
Were running 'round, en masse, unbound to see who's screwing who
A Sea of Shame let no-one claim, not least our politicians
We've done no wrong, we're just in charge, no need for our contrition
We've heard the rally 'round before "We've got to tighten our belts"
But silken shirts are worth much more than a simple peasants pelt
So Glorious Leaders, Blameless Ones it seems a little funny
We're in the ****, what will we do, we'll go and borrow money
Spend millions on Tribunals, with nothing there to gain
No point in trying to implicate, an Ass that knows no shame
As folk are screwed at every turn and even shopping prices
We'll form a new committee, "Shop Around", their sound advice is
And even now "Sir Biffo", it isn't sinking in
As "Lady Harney" stands besides you, as tall as you are thin
The country's in the toilet and the Brands are in the Fire
And we bend over graciously to be stamped in the Land of Ire
Copyright © Peter Walsh | Year Posted 2014
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