Patsies Wake

The Banshee had hardly
stopped screeching
when the house filled
up for the wake,
keeners were
weeping and wailing
enough to make
the widows heart break.

PATSY was propped in a corner,
his coffin an utter disgrace,
still he looked grand
with a pint in his hand
a cadaverous leer on his face.

The fiddler was swinging,
a tenor was singing
songs of ould Erin Isle,
moonshine was flowing
the house it was moving
with everyone dancing in style.

Puteen was brought in abundance,
gallons stacked in the hall
just as the insults were flying
inciting the men to a brawl.

Things became overly heated,
many were thrown through the door,
it was then that a bottle hit Patsy
who fell on his face to the floor.

Today he goes to his maker
marked by a toll of a bell,
sadly he never reached heaven
but received a grand welcome in hell.