Get that man a beer!

There once was a drunkard named Charlie
A fan of the hops and the barley
If he didn’t get
His foam filter wet
He’d end up bad tempered and snarly


The music never stopped

Headphones on and walking the town
I’m getting out and getting down
I’m getting milk and getting bread
Listening to the Grateful Dead


What’s worse than a curse?

There is an airport out in Knock
Where there ain’t much but stone and rock
The Holy Mary was seen there
With Joseph floating in the air
So Pope Frank went to see the church
Where Joe and Mary once did perch
The airport staff waited in line
To give Francis a shirt to sign
A jinx he was asked to reverse
In hopes of ending Mayo’s curse
Instead of such a petty task
A thousand things they could have asked
About abuse by priests and nuns
The church has failed the little ones
Little remorse, barely regret
Before he left them in his jet


What’s with the Crisco

There once was a pope named Francisco
Who roofied some dudes at a disco
With all of the noise
The three altar boys
Were certainly worth the huge risk-o


But you should share this

Go see the pope in Phoenix Park
Stroll through an alley after dark
Jump in a pile of broken glass
Ignore effects of greenhouse gas
Elect outsiders out of spite
In thunderstorms go fly a kite
Don’t bother wiping after poo
These are some things you should not do


I might need to get one

From Castleknock to Castlebar
Mullinavat to Mullingar
You can’t get there without a car
From County Cork to County Clare
Killarney, Kilcoole and Kildare
Without a car you can’t get there


Three to one odds

There once was a lad named Fitzpatrick
In football he tallied a hat trick
His favorite game
Was given a name
Three women in bed was a cat trick


High Street haiku

Castle, cathedrals,
Pubs, cafes and narrow streets
What’s in your city?


Aced it!

I’m always somewhat sleepy
And often I am weepy
I wish that I was rested
I feel I’m being tested
But don’t know how to study
I guess I’ll walk my buddy


Her middle name was Mulva

There once was a lass named Dolores
Whose sexual tales would not bore us
First kissing of lips
Then grinding of hips
It always would end with clitoris


Cemetery stroll

Beside the graveyard
Walking Brownie in the dark
We fear no evil


The trouble with stubble

Kissing scruff can cause beard burn
It’s a badge that’s fun to earn
Folks can also get ‘stache rash
It turns up when faces smash
Stubble might lead to red bumps
Trouble signs of hairy humps
Whiskers tickle cheeks and lips
Up above or down by hips
If you find a face that’s cute
Take some care if it’s hirsute


Patron saint of wood

There once was woman named Brigid
Whom most lads considered quite frigid
But she was quite quick
At taking a dick
And making it stiff, thick and rigid


Rail to nowhere

Sitting on a train
In the driving rain
Searching for the perfect station
Don’t know where to go
Hope we get there slow
Waiting for my destination
Every single place
Wants to plead its case
Each town has a revelation
Though the people there
Do not seem to care
All around this awesome nation

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