In the north all the poindexters will,
Wail and grow ever more shrill,
If you want big ideas,
From the great and wise,
Then stay far away from MacGill.
Pic Via Juno McEnroe
Meath saw their summer cut short,
Outclassed at our national sport,
But was Dublin’s might,
Helped along by a bite?
I hope this won’t end up in court.
A much admired Senator, Ned,
Took the floor yesterday and then said,
That all will agree,
Those birds from the sea,
Have all decent folk seeing red.
(Haydn West/Photocall Ireland)
Some claim that newpapers are dead,
But a trustworthy banker has said,
That his sword met a pen,
Which beat him and then,
Pushed our state into the red.
“Garth’s coming!” the plain people cried,
“For five nights!” that cowboy replied,
But it wasn’t to be,
He could only have three,
And that was how the music died.
At the end of the games in Brazil,
There’s a big pair of boots left to fill,
We need a new bloke,
Who can say “Okey Doke”,
To the panel, just like good old Bill.
The people in charge of dance say,
They’re sorry, but there is no way,
You can put on the ritz,
In a blizzard of glitz,
If it looks even just a bit gay.
Four days in and we still haven’t heard,
From Enda or Joan the first word,
But make no remark,
Because Brooks and Croke Park,
Distract us, that’s sad and absurd.
(Sasko Lazarov/Photocall Ireland)
A whole country stood, cried and swore,
That there wouldn’t be any more,
Of this national shame,
In the beautiful game,
But the Germans continued to score.