On St. Patties Day went to Portland for the Luck of the Irish job at Slabtown. Here's the band: Lost Creek Gang.
You look like you'd find a hare
We make guilty of our disasters,
Tis the luck of the Irish, the Irish I
Black tape and chewing gum
Neal Cassady is reincarnated.
| 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
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
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