Hymn for the Hopped-up

Lets all go to Uncle Arthurs cottage for brunch
spend the whole day
and then end the night with a punch

Arthur Arthur

was a celtic young lad

with peach fuzz for a beard
underwear made of plaid

he stumbled and wept

for the brews that he kept

stuck inside his small gut

he gaged but kept his mouth shut

now Jamey Jamey

your getting older

no more quiet old nights

with dads dear old shoulder

you got a family of your own

and your gunna shit-it

when you find your a house a burning

and the vandals who lit it

for the times are tough

the streets are rough

and many have their dimes

to swap for dark ales

and upchucking pales

but these nights down in Dublin are the very best times

hear the cry so spry

their voices are torn

their pints warm in hand

the wifes with newborns

there dirty from the docks

they make no sense while they think it

they stick back their heads

whiplash then drink it

for the times are tough
the streets are rough
and many have their dimes
to swap for dark ales
and upchucking pales
but these nights down in Dublin are the very best times

now the twins are a sleepin

the wreckings all done

the wifes been a mess

and she won't lose that bun

in the oven that you know

you'll handle with care

you make her a lady

cause in the morning you won't be there

oh

for the times are tough

the streets are rough

and many have their dimes

to swap for dark ales

and upchucking pales

but these nights down in Dublin are the very best times

now the ships casting off now

into the pirates old stew

between soggy old rocks

and the sky a pale blue

the streets getting thinner

and it fading to black

but like all our adventures

we got Guinness on tap

for the times are tough

the streets are rough

and many have their dimes

to swap for dark ales

and upchucking pales

but these nights down in Dublin are the very best times.

ML