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There once was an old man of Esser,
Whose knowledge grew lesser and lesser,
It at last grew so small
He knew nothing at all,
And now he's a college professor.

There once was a lady, Ilene,
Who lived on distilled kerosene,
But she started absorbin'
A new hydrocarbon
and since then she'd never benzene

There once was a young man of Trinity
Who found y^e root infinity.
But y^e digits
Gave him infinite fidgits,
So he dropped math and took up divinity.

There was a young lady one fall
Who wore a newspaper dress to a ball.
The dress caught fire
And burned her entire
Front page, sporting section and all.

A mouse in her room woke Miss Doud
Who was frightened and screamed very loud
Then a happy thought hit her
To scare off the critter
She sat up in bed and just meowed

Lordy, Please Don't Ye Smite 'em
'Cause I Smiles When I Sight 'em
I Laugh At The Gimerick
When I Reads A Limerick
I Only Cuss Because I Knows I Cain't Write 'em

The Humors of Whiskey

Let your quacks and newspapers be cuttin' their capers
And curing the Vapours, the Scratch and the Gout.
With their medical potions, their pills and their lotions,
Upholdin' their notions, they're mighty put out.
Who can tell the true physic of all things pathetic
And pitch to the Devil Cramp, Colic and Spleen?
Oh you'll find them I think if you take a big drink
With your mouth to the brink of a jug of Poteen.

Then stick to the Cratur the best thing in nature
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys.
Oh what botherations no bolt to the nation
Can bring consolation like Poteen me boys.

No liquid cosmetic to lovers athletic
Or ladies pathetic can bring such a bloom
As the sweet, by the powers to the garden of flowers
Never brought it own powers such a darlin' perfume.
And this liquid's so rare if you're willin' to share
To be takin' your hair when its grizzled and dead.
Oh the Sod has the merit to yield the true spirit
So strong it'll shake all the hairs from your head.

Then stick to the Cratur the best thing in nature
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys.
Oh since its perfection no doctor's direction
Can cleanse the complexion like Poteen me boys.

As a child in my cradle the nurse from her ladle
Was swillin' her mouth with a notion of ``Pep''
When a drop from her bottle fell into me throttle.
I capered and scrambled right out of her lap.
On the floor I lay crawlin' and screamin' and bawlin'
Till Father and Mother soon came to the fore.
Conceived I lay dying, all wailing and crying
They found I was only a-cryin' for more.

Then stick to the Cratur the best thing in nature
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys.
Oh Lord how I'd chuckle if babes in their truckle
Could only be suckled on Poteen me boys.

Through youthful digressions and times of depression
My childhood impression still clung to me mind.
In school and in college the basis of knowledge
I never could gulp 'till with whiskey combined.
Now as older I'm growin', time's ever bestowin'
On Erin's potation a flavour so fine
And how e're they may lecture on Jove and his nectar
Itself is the only true liquid divine.

Then stick to the Cratur the best thing in nature
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys.
Oh Lord it's the right thing for courtin' and fightin'
There's nowt so exciting as Poteen me boys.

Come guess me this riddle what beats pipes and fiddle
What's hotter than mustard and wilder than cream?
What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal
Smoother than honey and stronger than steam?
What'll make the dumb talk, what'll make the lame walk
The elixir of life and philosopher's stone?
And what helped Mr. Brunell to dig the Thames tunnel
Wasn't it Poteen me boys from old Innishowen.

Then stick to the Cratur the best thing in nature
For sinkin' your sorrows and raisin' your joys.
Oh Lord knows I wonder if lightning and thunder
Was made from the plunder of Poteen me boys!

Let philosophers dabble in science and babble
‘Bout Oxy-gin, Hydro-gin, Nitro-gin’s fame
For their gin, to my thinking, is not worth the drinking
Their labour’s all lost and their learning a drame
They may prate by the score of their elements four
That all things earth, fire, air and water must be
For their rules I don’t care, for in Ireland I’ll swear
By St. Pat there’ a fifth and that’s whiskey, machree!

You maidens pathetic, with lovers athletic
For liquid cosmetic, you can’t beat the drop
With a glow to your cheek, it will maker your heart leap
It’ll quiet a stallion or cure an old cob

At the mouth your would drool, be reduced to a fool
You’d kick up your heels and you’d peel to the buff
Then ‘tis he’d be pathetic while you’d be athletic
If only you’d take a few drops of the stuff

So stick to the cratur, the best thing in nature
For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
For there’s nothing like whiskey to make maidens frisky
It soon separates all the men from the boys