On St. Patties Day went to Portland for the Luck of the Irish job at Slabtown. Here's the band: Lost Creek Gang.




Yes, they did jam and tight, with great songs, then brought George Walker and Capn Skyp
onstage to perform the feature St. Patties's Day number, "Luck of the Irish."

 You look like you'd find a hare
for ever upon the ground you stare.
Things that are forgotten reappear.
The winds gather like sleeping flowers
Howling at snakes for endless hours.
Hear flocks of tiny pleaides
Dance among the apple trees.
Stick to thy winter flannels
Till thy winter flannels stick to you.

Chorus:
Tis the luck of the Irish, the Irish I say,
With a tootle-aye, tootle-aye, tootle-aye ay.
Yes the luck of the Irish, the Irish I say,
With a tootle-aye, tootle-aye, tootle aye ay.

 We make guilty of our disasters,
The sun the moon the stars.
As if we were villains by necessity,
Fools by heavenly compulsion.
The luck of the Irish
Will be thrice as blind
As any noontide owl
To virgins in their ecstasies.
The red-headed colleen was insurmountable
But our Paddy was most redoubtable.
Babies don't want to be told about babies,
They want to hear about giants.

Tis the luck of the Irish, the Irish I say,
With a tootle-aye, tootle aye, tootle aye ay.


 Black tape and chewing gum
Changed the course of time.
Many a good deal is too strange.
Believe me no good deal
Is not too strange to have happened.
From mothers to daughter it has been taught,
Tie tightly taut the marital knot.
Fishermen tie bells on your nets.
Chad are fond of music,
And will come to hear the bells.

Neal Cassady is reincarnated.
His virus is carried into the country.
On the soles of an Irish farmer.
A fool and his beans are soon befarted.
Soon befarted, soon befarted.
Oh oh oh, hear the bells.

 Sharp rise in sexual activity of Irish men
And American women.
Not all cirrhosis is caused by alcohol.
Red-headed men carry sensations
From the organ to the brain.
Financial independence is achieved.
Half of all the methane in the air
Comes from termites.
The fewer different drugs
Used to control a complicated job stress test
The less Bad taste there is to spend
On anti-tobacco messages.
They make worm's meat out of me.
It is an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
Oh. I am fortune's fool.
An angry leprachaun beats me on my Irish red head.
He was unstoppable.
His stamina for field work is incredible.

 Ye don't want to be tormentin'
the Little green men.
The leprechaumns dance and pipe
And the little men sing
While the men wanted gold
The coleens planted potatoes.
They hauled seaweed at low tide
And covered the bedrock
Until it was deep enough
They could plant potatoes.
They should have left the little people alone.
They wouldn't have got the shakes
No one could go outside for fear of the snakes.
And the potatoes all withered
Untended in their graves.
Until St. Patrick came came with the saaves

 St. Patty's laying about
with his shelalagh right and left.
The heather pipers are blowing a mighty jig.
Lassies are loosening pins
Letting hair and skirts fall.
Wind twirling their heads all around.
The land has been scoured
So clean of the snakes
The ground is all bare
From Killarney to the lakes.

CHORUS:
Tis the luck of the Irish, the Irish I say,
With a tootle-aye, tootle-aye, tootle-aye ay.
Yes, the luck of the Irish, the Irish I say,
With a tootle-aye, tootle-aye, tootle-aye ay.

Th-th-th-th-at's all, folks.


RETURN TO MAIN PAGE